True Grey
by attackofthejello
Summary: When Sirius Black reawakens on the other side of the veil, he comes across a host of old acquaintances that he was sure he'd never see again. But are they his allies or his enemies in the delicate and dangerous plan to return to Harry's world?
1. Chapter 01

"Ennervate," said some voice.  
  
Sirius opened his eyes and saw the voice's man. Dark hair, dark eyes. He thought he knew this man from somewhere, but he didn't have time to waste in trying to identify him- he had work to finish.  
  
"You were Stunned," the man told him.  
  
"I gathered that," Sirius said as he looked up at the man. "Nice try, Trixie," he muttered, smirking to himself. She had always hated that nickname. Sirius clambered to his feet and was filled with the adrenaline of battle once more.  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Where am I?  
  
"I'm on your side, Black, I'm here to help-" the man was saying.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name," Sirius interrupted, buying himself time to regain his balance and his senses. The Stunning Spell had left him a bit groggy, and blurry-eyed to boot.  
  
"'God' will suffice. J-" the man said, and cut off his own words.  
  
"Well, I had thought you looked familiar, but I can't say I know anyone of that name-"  
  
"Listen to me-"  
  
"You listen to me, God," interrupted Sirius, barely taking time to be sarcastic. "Have you seen Harry Potter anywhere around here? I need to find him."  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Where's Harry?  
  
"Are you feeling all right?" God asked, as though Sirius hadn't said anything.  
  
"Forget about me!" shouted Sirius, now looking around the chamber. His vision was clearing up. "Where's Harry? Is he all right? Did he get Bellatrix? Damn my legs, if they didn't still feel like jelly, I might've found him by now."  
  
"Don't worry about anything now except for getting out of the Ministry before the Death Eaters get here," said God with maddening calm. "Do as I say, and we'll both get out of here. alive."  
  
"Before the Death Eaters get here?" repeated Sirius in disbelief. He let go of the stone pillar and archway onto which he had been clinging, and found that his legs could support his weight once again. "I always knew God had a sense of humour. I mean, Merlin forbid they already be inside the Ministry, already attacked Harry-"  
  
"Apparate to the floor just above the Atrium."  
  
"I thought you wanted us to get out of the building! Or has God changed his mind?"  
  
"Clearly, your mind has unclouded enough to allow you sarcasm, but not sense," said God coolly. "Do as I say. You don't understand the situation."  
  
Furious, Sirius spun on his heel to face God. "Oh, I don't understand the situation, do I?" he spat. "Look, I don't know who you are, or who you think you are. But I do know you weren't even there when it was happening-" he whipped out his wand and pointed it straight at God's heart. "-unless you were under a mask!"  
  
God didn't flinch. "Don't be a fool. I'm on your side," he repeated. "Do as I say. Apparate to the-"  
  
"I don't have time to play your trust games," Sirius hissed, enraged, backing slowly away from God. They haven't gone far, they're still in the building. he needs me.  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Is he all right?  
  
Without another moment's hesitation he turned and sprinted for the chamber door. As he raced down the corridor and pounded the lift button, he heard God's voice yelling strong and clear: "Black! Avoid the Atrium!" God's quick footsteps echoed through the deserted hallway.  
  
After what felt like the passing of a century, the lift finally arrived. Sirius dashed inside and magicked the golden gate shut behind him to keep God from following. After a moment's consideration, he pressed all the buttons. Sweating slightly, breathing rapidly, he willed the lift to rise faster.  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Where's Remus?  
  
When finally the lift halted and the golden grille slid open, Sirius stepped forward, intending to look around the Atrium for any sign of his godson. He had just caught sight of some dark human shapes behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren when God pounced, forcing Sirius backwards into the lift and slamming the grille shut with his own muscular arms. As though frightened, the lift shot upwards at an alarming speed, heading for the top floor.  
  
Sirius wrestled free of God's grip and jumped to his feet, aiming his wand once again at God's chest. God calmly drew his wand in turn, staring Sirius down with hard eyes.  
  
"You can't afford to be rash when you don't understand," said God with an air of deep patience that made Sirius want to strangle him. "I haven't time to explain it now. But you can't afford not to listen to me when you don't know-"  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Where are they?  
  
"I know what I need to know," growled Sirius. "I know that Harry was in trouble and I came to help and I got Stunned, and I have no idea what happened or where they are after that. I've got to find them.  
  
"I heard voices, I saw people in the Atrium."  
  
God blinked twice.  
  
"That's where I need to go," Sirius continued.  
  
"Wrong. Don't go to the Atrium," said God.  
  
Sirius ignored him, cursing the lift because he couldn't Disapparate from a moving surface without Splinching himself. When the lift screeched to a halt on the first and uppermost floor, Sirius charged through the golden grille, knocking God to the ground, and Apparated immediately to the Atrium.  
  
Black robes, white masks.Three Death Eaters stood waiting for him.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the Dark Lord's right-hand man," said one, grinning malevolently through his mask. "We salute you, Mr. Black." All three bowed in mock respect.  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Is everyone all right?  
  
"You shouldn't believe what you read in the Daily Prophet," said Sirius. "Where's Harry?"  
  
Two of the Death Eaters laughed ominously; Sirius's heart thumped a little harder. "You'll tell me where Harry is, you sick-"  
  
The other Death Eater, the one who had spoken, raised his eyebrows and walked slowly forward, hands behind his back where Sirius couldn't see them. Sirius felt his head cloud and his throat tighten in anger as the laughter intensified.  
  
"Harry is-" began the Death Eater, but then stopped. For a moment, a mixture of annoyance and fear shone in his pale eyes, fixed on a spot over Sirius's shoulder. "Looks like you have a visitor, Mr. Black."  
  
Sirius whipped his head around, sure he would see Remus standing there, or Dumbledore; but it was only God who stepped forward to stand by his side. Sirius glared at him before turning back to the Death Eaters, fist clenched around his wand at his side.  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Where's Harry?  
  
"You have ten seconds to tell me where Harry is," said Sirius in his lowest, most dangerous voice. "Ten."  
  
Nobody moved. "Nine. Eight."  
  
The trickling of water in the Fountain of Magical Brethren was the only sound. "Seven. Six."  
  
The Death Eaters' hands remained concealed behind their backs. "Five. Four."  
  
Sirius raised his wand, pointed it in their direction. "Three. Two."  
  
A hand grabbed Sirius's wrist; God leaned sideways, his head inclined close to Sirius's ear.  
  
"Don't use magic," he whispered.  
  
Sirius, bewildered at this order, abandoned his countdown.  
  
"What are you talking about, no magic?" he hissed. "Do you plan to make yourself useful, or are you here just to be a permanent obstacle?"  
  
Heart pounding. Tick, tock. Somebody better tell me something soon.  
  
"Don't use magic," God repeated forcefully. "They're Muggles."  
  
"Muggle Death Eaters?" Sirius scoffed, not troubling to keep his voice down. He looked in the Death Eaters' direction, but their masked faces were expressionless. "Am I really supposed to believe that a bunch of Muggles are among Voldemort's closest supporters? We are talking about the same Voldemort, aren't we?"  
  
He wrenched his arm from God's grasp and strode away, out of his reach, raising his wand once again. He was losing time, time he didn't have. He wouldn't, couldn't, hesitate this time-  
  
It was God's voice, however, that uttered the first spell. "Expelliarmus!"  
  
The shock on Sirius's face quickly gave way to fury as his wand flew from his hand.  
  
"ON MY SIDE, MY ARSE!" he roared. He spun around and dived at God, tackling him at his knees. Both crashed to the ground; Sirius pinned him on his back and grabbed his arms. God stretched to put the wands out of Sirius's reach, but Sirius threw himself on God's arm, grabbed both wands, and rolled onto his feet.  
  
"You don't understand, you insufferable bastard, won't you just listen to me for once?" snarled God, stalking towards Sirius despite the fact that both wands were aiming straight into his chest.  
  
"You haven't yet told me one damned thing I need to hear right now!" shouted Sirius, standing his ground as God approached.  
  
"What do you want me to tell you, that Harry is just waiting for you outside? It's not that simple! I've told you what you need to do!"  
  
"Fuck off! What I need to do is use magic! I've fought Death Eaters before, you know-"  
  
"And ended up unconscious," God said venomously.  
  
"Look, you try to interfere again, and I'll-"  
  
Sirius flew against the wall as God's fist connected with his jaw. Face numb, he tightened his grip on the wands; but God landed another blow to his abdomen. Winded, Sirius sank to the ground, and God took the opportunity to step on Sirius's wrist and wrest the wands from his hand. The man took off, sprinting back towards the lifts-  
  
Breathing heavily, angrier than ever, Sirius pulled himself to his feet and went tearing after God, blood streaming from his mouth as he ran. When he reached the lifts, God stood facing him, holding Sirius's wand in front of him.  
  
"Don't make me break this," God said softly.  
  
Sirius approached him slowly, making no sudden movements until he was within a foot's distance of the man. Without warning, he landed a swift kick to the back of God's knees. God stumbled to the ground, but hooked his legs around Sirius's and pulled. Sirius landed on top of him, but God freed himself, sprang to his feet, and ran out of the reach of Sirius's flailing arms.  
  
"Be reasonable, Black," God said calmly, still brandishing the wands threateningly. "Would you really have those Death Eaters watch us fight each other to the death over a couple of wands? I'm sure they'd love for one of us to finish the other off, it would make everything easier for them."  
  
"Easy for you to say, you're the one with a wand to defend yourself!" Sirius said. He threw a look over his shoulder as he advanced, shaking with anger, towards God. There was something suspicious about the way the Death Eaters were standing passively, watching the fight, seemingly as without a care as to who won or who lost.  
  
"Just because I have a wand doesn't mean I'll use it," God said. "I told you, they're Muggles. Only a fool- or a Death Eater- would attack a Muggle with magic. Which are you, Black?"  
  
Sirius looked again at the Death Eaters. He saw no sign of a wand; he could hardly even be sure they had hands, for their arms remained crossed behind their backs. He lowered his voice so that they couldn't hear. "Say they are Muggles. Surely you would have thought to bring a gun or something with you to use in place of your wand."  
  
"I certainly would have, except that I was sent here on very short notice. I didn't have time to pack."  
  
"I see," lied Sirius.  
  
"Do you see enough to agree not to use your wand?"  
  
By way of reply, Sirius launched a hard uppercut to God's chin. God's head snapped back, but he recovered, and stomped on the inside of Sirius's foot. Sirius recoiled, managing to look daggers at God through eyes half-shut in a wince.  
  
"Fuck it all," Sirius breathed.  
  
"Just so you know, you could never beat me in a fistfight," God said nonchalantly, as though telling Sirius the score of the latest Falmouth Falcons match.  
  
Sirius interpreted this last insult as a challenge. Seething, he made a final and desperate lunge at the hand holding the wands.  
  
God seemed to be expecting this; he pulled back his arm at the last second and pushed Sirius to the ground. "You leave me no choice," he said. "Stupefy."  
  
As the scene at the Atrium faded to black, Sirius saw God pocket both wands and charge towards the waiting Death Eaters. 


	2. Chapter 02

When Sirius came to, he could feel cold porcelain all around him- he was lying in an empty bathtub. He felt groggy and dizzy, and his head was aching terribly.  
  
I've got to lay off the booze late at night, Sirius thought, opening his eyes and squinting against the light. This had to be one of the worst blackouts of his life- he hadn't the slightest idea what he had done the day before. With trembling arms he raised himself high enough to look around.  
  
A flickering light bulb hung by a cord from a rough hole in the ceiling. The walls were covered with peeling paint of a pale green. A mouldy wicker rug covered the cheap plastic tile in front of the chipped toilet. The mirror looked as though it had been shattered and glued back together again several times. Nothing looked familiar; this was no bathroom he'd ever been in before.  
  
Sirius stood on shaking legs and looked in the dilapidated mirror. A livid bruise darkened half his face along his jaw line, and dried blood tinted his teeth- he had no idea how he had got in such a state. Assuming another pub brawl, he reached into his pocket for his wand, intending to fix up his face.  
  
It wasn't there.  
  
As Sirius patted down the sides of his robes and his trouser pockets, a shadowy memory came back to him. A man had hit him and taken his wand, a man with dark hair and strange dark eyes.  
  
The sound of movement outside the bathroom interrupted the memory. Sirius staggered to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening.  
  
".wasting your time, Wilkes. He was Stunned twice within hours, he went and got his head beaten in by Dearborn, and he's been unconscious three days. There's no way he'll know or remember anything worth telling us."  
  
"Come on, Rosier! You know he'll figure it out. You remember how bright he was when we went to school with him. Bloody geniuses, he and Potter were-"  
  
Potter. James. Harry.  
  
It was as though someone had flipped a switch from "off" to "on". As the memories of the past few days rushed back into Sirius's mind, his stomach lurched. Harry was still out there, somewhere. he had no way of knowing what had happened.  
  
But they know, Sirius told himself. They could tell me what happened to Harry. He tuned back into the conversation outside.  
  
".Rosier, it's just a matter of time before Dearborn comes bursting in here with those blasted shotguns and blades of his. Sure we Wilkesd him away last time, but he didn't have a single weapon on him. We can't wait any longer."  
  
"Shut up, Wyman, don't talk about Dearborn now. It's nothing short of pathetic that we failed to kill him last time. Our business is with Sirius Black today. Both of you fools, listen to me.  
  
"Black doesn't know where he is, or what's going on. His mind is a clean slate right now. All we have to do is get him on our side. Then, he'll inevitably lead us to-"  
  
Sirius heard the sound of a chair scraping back on the floor. Somebody had stood up.  
  
"Don't be daft, Rosier, he'll never fall for that!"  
  
Sirius now heard a second chair move as a low, dangerous voice said, "Do you think you know better, Wilkes?"  
  
"Rosier-"  
  
Sirius cringed as a gunshot and a scream shattered the quiet conversation. Two more gunshots, quiet, and then.  
  
"Come on, Wyman. We've wasted enough time."  
  
Sirius wrenched his ear from the door, threw himself back into the bathtub, and shut his eyes. The lock clicked and the door creaked open. Sirius heard two pairs of footsteps as two men squeezed into the tiny bathroom. He opened his eyes halfway, pretending to have just woken up.  
  
"Hey, Sirius," said Evan Rosier. The friendly smile on Rosier's scarred face was as fake as Sirius's sleepiness. "Slept it off yet?"  
  
Sirius chose his words carefully, playing along. "Just about," he mumbled, standing up. "I must've blacked out. What happened to me?"  
  
"Caradoc Dearborn beat the shit out of you at the pub last night. How're you feeling? Wyman, go get him a cup of coffee."  
  
Something clicked in Sirius's mind. The image of God's face surfaced at the mention of Caradoc Dearborn. But that wasn't possible. Caradoc Dearborn had died seventeen years ago.  
  
"Dearborn was after your hide, that's for sure," Rosier was saying. "And he licked you pretty bad, to be honest. He wasn't finished with you, either, but we pulled you out of there just in time."  
  
Come to think of it, Rosier himself had died- killed by an Auror, just like Wyman and Wilkes, years and years ago. Yet he had just heard Wilkes shot to death, with an ordinary Muggle gun, not by an Auror but by a fellow Death Eater.  
  
"Listen, Sirius," Rosier said, handing him the cup of coffee that Wyman had just brought in. "We did you a big favour last night. Now we need your help with something."  
  
Play along. Sirius nodded, and took a sip of coffee. It tasted like shit.  
  
"I've been stuck in this god-forsaken shit-hole far too long now," Rosier said quietly, glancing at the dilapidated walls and broken mirror. "But I don't possess the means to get out. I need someone a-"  
  
He looked sharply at Sirius. "Someone as bright and as strong as you are, to help us out."  
  
Sirius forced a smile at the compliment. "I'll do what I can."  
  
"Excellent." Rosier looked very excited. "Now, listen carefully.  
  
"Wyman, Wilkes, and I cannot leave this. area. Some- some sort of magic has bound us here. We want nothing more than to leave this place, whatever it takes. but the key that can release us is somewhere that we can't get to."  
  
"Rotten luck," said Sirius. "So where is this key?"  
  
"Well, there are actually three keys," Rosier said. "One for each of us. Wilkes's is at Benjy Fenwick's place. Wyman's is with the Prewett brothers. And mine."  
  
Rosier let out a sharp laugh and glanced at Sirius. "Well, we'll take this one step at a time. Just know that the keys are already inserted into their locks. All you have to do is turn them. Also know that Caradoc Dearborn is your enemy. I'll show you where-"  
  
Suddenly, the smile had melted from Rosier's face, and all traces of friendliness were gone. Instead, he was looking furiously at Sirius, who realised too late that he had been watching Rosier too intently, too suspiciously.  
  
"You know, don't you?" Rosier said softly. "You were listening. You know something's up."  
  
Sirius tried to look perplexed. "All I know is what you told me-"  
  
"Don't lie to me!" Rosier pulled out a handgun from his robes and cocked it, pointing it straight between Sirius's eyes. "Tell me what you know."  
  
Heart thumping painfully, Sirius froze. "Every name you've mentioned to me is the name of a dead man."  
  
"Very good, Black, you were always a bright one," said Rosier maliciously, holding the gun steady, finger resting on the trigger. "I suppose you know what that means?"  
  
"Yeah, it means either I'm still sleeping and dreaming, or you're full of shit!"  
  
"Incorrect," Rosier sneered. "What else do you know?"  
  
"Why don't you tell me what you know?" Sirius challenged. "Because nobody has told me a damn thing about what happened after I got Stunned. the first time."  
  
"Oh, yes," said Rosier casually. "I suppose you want to know what has happened to your precious Harry Potter. Well, I can tell you."  
  
"Go on, then! Tell me!"  
  
Rosier laughed. "I don't think so. You get me what I want, and I'll take you to Harry. It's that simple."  
  
"Can you tell me where Remus Lupin is?"  
  
"A deal is a deal. Lupin doesn't enter into it."  
  
"Go to hell," Sirius snarled. At these words, Rosier laughed softly, but said nothing.  
  
Sirius's mind raced. There was still no sign of Remus, Dumbledore, or anyone else. It was entirely possible that he, Sirius, was the only one who was in a position to help Harry. And it seemed that the only way to find Harry was to make this deal with Rosier.  
  
But he knew Rosier was a Death Eater, whereas Caradoc Dearborn had been in the Order of the Phoenix and an Auror-in-training. Whatever this place was that Rosier couldn't leave, it must be some sort of Auror containment system. But if Rosier was using guns instead of magic, perhaps what Dearborn had told him yesterday was true. And if Rosier was indeed a Muggle, surely he couldn't be that dangerous if he was released from this place.  
  
Plus, there was a loaded gun aiming straight through his head. "It's a deal," Sirius said.  
  
Rosier lowered the gun. "Good decision, Black. I'll take you to the first house. And in case you try any funny stuff, I'll keep this with me." He patted his firearm as he placed it back into his cloak.  
  
Sirius followed Rosier out of the bathroom. The rest of the house was just as grungy. Sirius did a double-take when he saw Byron Wilkes standing up, apparently alive and well, making a sandwich out of some stale-looking bread. Wilkes's chest was showing through three small, round holes in the front of his bloodstained shirt.  
  
"Black and I are going for a little walk," said Rosier. "Wyman, Wilkes, you two hold the fort."  
  
"Wait, Rosier," said Wilkes, dusting bread crumbs from his hands. "If you. hit the jackpot, you'll give us our shares before you take off with it, won't you?"  
  
A grinning Rosier clapped Wilkes on the shoulder. "After all the help you've given me, how could I leave you behind?"  
  
"Er- all right," Wilkes replied uncertainly. "Thanks."  
  
Rosier grabbed Sirius's wrist and led him outside. There was no trace of a grin left on his face; his pale blue eyes were set in a determined stare. They walked briskly and in silence through dark, dingy neighbourhoods. Vagrants watched morosely as they passed. Where they were headed Sirius couldn't guess; he followed Rosier, who never loosened his grip on Sirius's arm.  
  
Rosier stopped abruptly in an alleyway between two grimy brick walls. Before Sirius could catch sight of what was beyond the lane, Rosier turned to him, his pistol out once more.  
  
"Round that corner you'll see a house you recognise," Rosier said. His voice was dangerous and low, but trembling from the excitement he couldn't seem to repress. Sirius could tell that Rosier had been waiting for a very long time for this key that he was supposed to retrieve. Instinctively he knew he shouldn't help Rosier, but every moment's hesitation was wasted time for Harry.  
  
"What does it look like?" Sirius asked.  
  
"I've never actually seen it. But it should have my name on it somewhere," Rosier explained hastily. "Don't fuck this up."  
  
Sirius felt the butt of the gun against his shoulder as Rosier gave him an impatient shove towards the end of the alleyway. He walked, not sure where he was going, and Rosier followed close behind. His chest tensed with every step he took, his head aching with misgivings.  
  
He hesitated at the end of the alley, dreading what he was about to do. "What?" barked Rosier.  
  
"I- why aren't you coming with me?" Sirius asked, buying time, trying to decide.  
  
"I already told you I can't. Remember my magic boundaries? If I could go with you I wouldn't need you to do this for me."  
  
Sirius felt the mouth of the gun against the small of his back. Clearly, Rosier would allow him no more time to think. Sirius didn't want to go through with this operation, but if he tried to back out he would be shot.  
  
"Fine," Sirius said through clenched teeth. "I'm going-"  
  
The sound of a gunshot broke open his sentence. Sirius felt his stomach clench with shock and fear- but not with pain. Was he dead already? He could no longer feel the cold, smooth metal against his back; he heard the gun clatter to the ground.  
  
"Go, Black! Step round the corner!" shouted a different voice, from a distance.  
  
Sirius whirled around and saw God- Caradoc Dearborn, he remembered- sprinting down the alleyway towards him, gun drawn and trailing smoke. Rosier cursed and picked up his own gun with his left hand and pulled Sirius down into a headlock with his right arm. Sirius managed a hard uppercut to Rosier's jaw but soon stopped struggling as, with a thrill of nerves, he felt the pistol pressed to his left temple.  
  
"Move a muscle, Black, and I'll blow your brains out," whispered Rosier into his ear.  
  
Dearborn immediately stopped running, but he held his revolver in a steady aim. He slowly stepped forward, and Rosier responded by jabbing the gun further into Sirius's hair.  
  
"Take another step and I swear I'll shoot him," Rosier growled.  
  
"No you won't," Dearborn responded calmly. He took another step.  
  
Rosier laughed softly. "Don't believe me, Dearborn?"  
  
"No." Another step.  
  
Stop walking, Dearborn, Sirius thought anxiously. Stand still, you son of a bitch.  
  
But Dearborn walked on, slowly but steadily. Rosier increased the pressure against Sirius's head. Warm blood was streaming down his cheek from Rosier's right palm, where Dearborn had shot the pistol straight out of his hand. Rosier was panting and sweating with the pain and the effort of holding onto Sirius, but his face betrayed no fear and he held his gun steady against Sirius's temple.  
  
Sirius watched Dearborn draw ever nearer, wondering how long it would be before Rosier pulled the trigger.  
  
"What's the matter?" Dearborn said quietly. "Out of bullets?"  
  
By way of reply Rosier quickly turned his wrist to aim the gun in Dearborn's direction, but the bullet missed its target by nearly a foot. Immediately he returned the gun to its place against Sirius's head.  
  
"Clearly, you're not a left hand shot," Dearborn said. "Why don't you try again?" As he said this, he glanced at Sirius. Sirius got the message- Dearborn was distracting Rosier, it was his chance to hit the Death Eater, to escape. and Dearborn was counting on him to hit well, or Rosier's shot may well be true.  
  
But Rosier did not try for Dearborn again. "Do you take me for a fool, Dearborn?" he sneered. "You've been interfering for far too long, and I know all your tricks by now. Black and I have made a deal, and we both intend to go through with it. Isn't that right, Black?"  
  
"That's right," Sirius said, without missing a beat. Now he shot his own glance at Dearborn, and he knew that Dearborn understood that he was lying.  
  
"I don't intend to hurt Black unless you force me to, Dearborn," said Rosier.  
  
"You underestimate me, Rosier," Dearborn said. "And I'm sure you underestimate Mr. Black as well-" He raised his gun, aiming it straight for Sirius's face.  
  
Sirius could tell that that was his cue. Just as a second bullet flew from Dearborn's gun, Sirius transformed into a great black dog and slipped from Rosier's grasp. The bullet grazed Rosier's chest, where Sirius's face had been moments before. Sirius resisted the temptation to bite Rosier where it would really hurt, and ran instead around the corner, out of the alley.  
  
"The deal's still on, Black!" Rosier shouted over his shoulder. "Dearborn can't take you to Potter. Just know that I can!"  
  
The sounds of persistent gunfire reverberated off the brick walls. Sirius listened and watched, poking his nose around the corner.  
  
Dearborn could have easily escaped through the other end of the alley, but it was clear that he wanted to follow Sirius. He had now crouched behind a dumpster, curling an arm around the side now and again to take a shot at Rosier. But it was clear that Rosier, too, was a skilful gunman; even with his left hand, he had managed to hit the part of Dearborn's foot that protruded from behind the trash bin.  
  
As the gunfight dragged on, Sirius became aware once again that his time was draining away. Yet he had nowhere to go without Dearborn, and Dearborn was getting nowhere..  
  
Filling himself with as much courage as a dog could hold, Sirius bounded up behind Rosier, who had fixed all his concentration on getting to Dearborn and didn't notice the dog behind him. Dearborn saw Sirius there and held his gunfire, pausing on the pretence of reloading his weapon. Sirius leapt up and clamped his jaws around Rosier's left wrist, dragging that arm down to the ground. Rosier fired his pistol wildly but hit only brick wall; Sirius braced himself against a round of well-aimed kicks. Christ, Sirius thought, is he wearing steel-toed boots or what?  
  
Finally Sirius spotted Dearborn dashing towards him, limping from the wound in his foot. He had pocketed his gun and instead unsheathed a dagger from his belt. With his free hand he wrenched the pistol from Rosier's grasp, and with the knife he skewered Rosier's hand and pinned it to a trash can.  
  
"Go, Black!" he snarled. Leaving his dagger piercing skin and tin, he tore off around the corner and Sirius raced after him.  
  
Nearly a block from the alley, Dearborn finally stopped running. Sirius, panting, changed back into human form. Both men sank onto a nearby garden bench to catch their breath.  
  
"Well done, Black," Dearborn said. "I'm surprised you caught on so quickly."  
  
"You shouldn't be."  
  
"Oh, I see how it is. You think you're brighter than me, is that it?"  
  
"Yes. I kicked your arse when it came to school, remember?"  
  
"You may have brains, Black, but your common sense and street smarts needs work," Dearborn snapped. "None of this would have happened if you had just stepped round the corner like I told you to. Congratulations on putting us both through a lot of pain and danger."  
  
"I was still undecided then," Sirius explained, annoyed at Dearborn's attitude.  
  
"Ah," Dearborn said shortly. "Nothing like indecision to ruin your chances."  
  
"My chances at what?"  
  
Dearborn didn't answer.  
  
"Great," said Sirius, raising and dropping his hands in frustration. "Still, nobody wants to tell me what the hell is going on."  
  
"Oh, you'll get your answers," Dearborn assured him. "But first I want to go somewhere and get this fixed up." He indicated his bleeding foot.  
  
"And these," Sirius said, rubbing his ribs. "Wait." He was remembering what Rosier had told him about the key. On this block there was a house he would recognise.  
  
He jogged back towards the alley, leaving Dearborn staring after him. He looked closely at each house. He noticed that these homes were stately and clean, most with gardens- very different from those that he had passed on his way from Rosier's shack to the alley. No wonder he wants to get out of his neighbourhood.  
  
Sirius stopped dead in his tracks. The house had been revamped, refurbished, but there was no mistaking it- he was staring right at the front door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Why the hell would Rosier's key be in there?  
  
He stood gaping at it for what must have been minutes, because Dearborn staggered over to him and waved a hand in front of his face.  
  
"Let's go, Black, before gangrene sets in-"  
  
"This was my house," Sirius told him. "I lived here when I was young."  
  
"Yeah? What about it?"  
  
"Rosier said his key was in there!"  
  
Dearborn raised his eyebrows. "If didn't know you were so uptight, I'd say you were pulling my leg."  
  
Sirius's jaw dropped. "I can't believe youjust told me I was uptight."  
  
Dearborn snorted. "Whatever you say, Black. Let's go. Oh-" he rummaged for something in his robes pocket. "I believe this belongs to you."  
  
"Thank you," said Sirius through gritted teeth, grabbing his wand from Dearborn's hand. He followed Dearborn for a while past well-trimmed lawns and expansive gardens. "So how do you plan to find Harry, God?"  
  
"I can't tell you that," said Dearborn.  
  
"Can you tell me where we're going, at least?" asked Sirius, exasperated.  
  
"Yes," Dearborn said matter-of-factly. "We're going to see Lily and James." 


	3. Chapter 03

"Lily and James?" Sirius repeated, stopping in his tracks. "That's not funny at all, Dearborn."  
  
"You don't have to come if you don't want to," replied Dearborn, who had kept on walking. "Just stay out of Rosier's way while Lily's fixing up my foot."  
  
Heart pounding, Sirius stalked after Dearborn, for lack of something better to do. "You're telling me Lily and James are here?" he echoed, waving his arms about him. "They died years ago!"  
  
"Is it so hard to believe?" Dearborn said acidly. "Rosier died years ago as well, but you didn't question his existence while he was holding a gun to your head."  
  
"Don't get wise with me now, Dearborn!"  
  
"Keep your voice down, Black," Dearborn hissed. "I learned the hard way that most residents of this area don't like intruders."  
  
Sirius didn't answer. His mind was reeling faster than ever. Provided that Dearborn wasn't lying, he would soon get to see his best friend for the first time in fifteen years. And he, unlike Dearborn, would be eager to help Sirius find Harry.  
  
"Hey, Sirius."  
  
Sirius's head snapped in the direction of that familiar voice. Through a gap in a hedge he could see her smiling face, her shoulder-length red hair, but he couldn't believe it. Elbowing Dearborn aside, Sirius rushed forward, holding his breath. He stopped right in front of her, looking down at her, unable to say anything.  
  
"James is in the shower," Lily said casually, pulling off a pair of soiled gardening gloves. "He'll want to talk to you when he gets out."  
  
"I'm afraid I need your help again, Lily," Dearborn said. He walked towards the hedge; his limp was heavier than ever, but his face betrayed no pain.  
  
"Oh, hello, Caradoc," Lily said, looking over Sirius's shoulder at him. "I didn't see you at first. What's that bugger done to you now?"  
  
"There's a bullet in my foot," Dearborn replied, as nonchalantly as telling Lily what he wanted for lunch.  
  
Sirius shook his head. He couldn't decide what was the most shocking- his encounter with Rosier, Dearborn's vast pain threshold, or Lily's presence. The whole day had been so outrageous that Sirius felt stripped of all reality. He was left with nothing but a vague feeling of failure, and of responsibility to his godson.  
  
He turned to Lily, hoping she could help him understand. "You-" he stammered. "Do you-"  
  
But his question was interrupted by the sound of a closing door, and another voice coming down behind him. "All right, Padfoot?"  
  
Sirius knew that voice so well that he was sure it must be 1980 again. He turned slowly, eyes raised expectantly to the source of the voice.  
  
James- no, Harry in his early twenties- no, it was James who was standing on the front porch, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in the pockets of his jeans his hair lying flat, for once, weighed down with water.  
  
Sirius would have thought he was fully paralysed, had his mouth not dropped open at the sight of his best friend. With a smile to match her husband's, Lily gently shook Sirius's arm.  
  
"Let's go, Sirius," she said. "We're not used to you being so quiet."  
  
Snapping out of his stupor, Sirius forced his shaking legs down the garden path. James met him at the bottom of the stone porch steps; "Long time no see, Sirius Black," he said.  
  
"James." Sirius managed to croak.  
  
"You look knackered," James remarked.  
  
"Knackered. yeah. you."  
  
James and Lily both laughed as Sirius struggled to put together a sentence. Out of the corner of his eye Sirius saw Dearborn watching him disdainfully as Lily and James ushered him into the house. Dearborn was left alone to make quite a show of limping unaided up the steps behind them.  
  
"Have a seat, both of you," Lily said, tossing cushions aside to make room on the sitting-room couch. "I think we should all have a little talk-"  
  
"Thanks, but I'd rather not be present when you break the news to nimrod over here," Dearborn said scornfully.  
  
"What news?" Sirius said quickly.  
  
"And speaking of Black," Dearborn continued, "if you could tear your attention away from his slightly bruised self for just a moment, there's a bullet here that needs removing."  
  
James rolled his eyes and winked at Sirius, who managed to crack a smile in return.  
  
"You two go on in the sitting-room," Lily said. "I'll join you soon enough, though I daresay you two have some things to catch up on."  
  
Dearborn pulled back a chair and took a seat, resting his injured foot on the kitchen table.  
  
Sirius followed James into the next room. Looking around, he realised suddenly that he had last seen this house in ruins, on Halloween fifteen years ago. The walls had collapsed, every light bulb was smashed (Lily had never really got used to reading by candlelight), and the furniture was all broken and splintered. But now, everything was as Sirius remembered from earlier times when he, Remus, and Peter had gone to visit the Potters.  
  
"I like what you've done with the place," Sirius told James absentmindedly.  
  
James grinned. "It was a bit of a fixer-upper, that's for sure."  
  
Sirius laughed out loud- for the first time, it seemed, since Christmas. "I can imagine." He dropped into a chair, wincing a bit at the ache in his ribs. "So, are you going to-"  
  
"Tell you where Harry is?" James finished his question for him, sitting down on the couch across from him. "Sure, I can."  
  
James closed his eyes, his face contorted with concentration. or was it pain? Grief? Sirius braced himself, expecting the worst.  
  
"Right now," James said, "Harry is in the Hogwarts hospital wing-"  
  
Sirius jumped to his feet and started talking at once. "What's wrong with him? Is he going to be all right? Why-"  
  
"-visiting Ron and Hermione," James finished.  
  
"You- you mean, he's alive? He's all right?" Sirius said, slowly sitting back down.  
  
"Harry will be just fine," James reassured him, eyeing him amusedly. "You ought to be careful, Sirius. You're not as young as you used to be, and if you keep getting all excited that way you might have a cardiac arrest."  
  
"I'm not that old," he grumbled. Now that James mentioned it, Sirius did feel a little awkward being sixteen years older than his best friend, who had been more like his twin since they were eleven. James, now eternally in the prime of his life, retained the good looks that Azkaban and time had all but drained from Sirius; but the worst part was that Sirius knew James would be sure never to let him forget his mounting age.  
  
As he pondered this, Lily appeared in the doorway. "Caradoc says he'd be content to watch the telly in the other room while we talk to Sirius," she told James, sitting down next to him.  
  
"I'd be content for him to sit his stubborn arse down here, seeing as he's as big a part of this mess as Sirius is," James said. "Oy! Dearborn!"  
  
Dearborn stalked into the sitting-room. He did not take a seat, but stood instead in the corner of the room, arms folded, not troubling to disguise the derisive glower he shot at Sirius. "Let's do this fast," he said to James.  
  
I'd be content for him to remove the stick from his stubborn arse, thought Sirius, smirking at James (who, Sirius could tell from the humour in his eyes, was thinking along the same lines). It dawned on him that he had never once seen Dearborn smile or laugh. The one thing Sirius was sure he could beat Dearborn at was being funny, making anything into a good time. Nothing irked him more than to see Dearborn out-think and out-fight him. And clearly, it was irking Dearborn very much to see James and Lily laughing with the nimrod, ignoring him...  
  
Sirius had finally found a worthy competitor- there was no doubting Dearborn's skill of mind, gun, wand, and sword. But he would not allow Caradoc Dearborn to strip him of his title of 'Long-Established Genius and Badass'. He would learn to shoot a pistol, practise with a sword, do whatever it took to get revenge on Dearborn for rescuing him, beating him up, and rescuing him again. The indignity of it all.  
  
".veil in the Department of Mysteries is a sort of artificial death machine," James was saying.  
  
Sirius returned his attention to the conversation. "Is that what happened? I fell through that curtain?"  
  
Lily nodded. "It was your cousin who pushed you through. We- we watched you two duel, thankfully she didn't use the Killing Curse-"  
  
"Hey, slow down," Sirius interrupted. "What do you mean, you watched me?"  
  
"We're dead, Sirius," James said quietly. "We just have to close our eyes, and we can see anything on earth."  
  
"We're almost always watching Harry," Lily said. Sirius felt a sharp pang of guilt at the mention of his godson. "I just can't get enough of seeing him grow up. But it's terrible, you know, when we see things going wrong."  
  
"We can't do anything to change what happens," James agreed. "We can't even talk to him-"  
  
Dearborn cleared his throat loudly. "So the veil was created to simulate death," he prompted James.  
  
"So that the Ministry could study it," James continued. Sirius glared at Dearborn; he had wanted to talk more about Harry. "It was an invaluable tool. It sent its users to the afterlife, bypassing the more unpleasant symptoms of death. But its creators never did figure out a way to return people who had passed through it."  
  
Sirius felt his skin crawl. "Tell me. tell me somebody else figured it out?"  
  
Lily, James, and Dearborn all shook their heads.  
  
"But that doesn't mean that there is no way to return," Lily said confidently.  
  
Sirius's stomach dropped all the same. "So, I'm stuck. here until somebody solves this, is that it? I just have to stay dead and wait-"  
  
"You're not dead," Dearborn barked. "And neither am I."  
  
Sirius stared at him. "James just said-"  
  
"He and Lily are indeed dead," Dearborn said impatiently. "You and I aren't. It's quite simple."  
  
"I wouldn't go so far as to call it simple, but Dearborn is right. You're still alive, Sirius," James told him. "If you want proof, shut your eyes. You can't see anything, can you? Only the dead can see what's on earth."  
  
Sirius closed his eyes. Through his eyelids, he could still see outlines of the electric lights, but everything else was black. And he definitely couldn't see anything resembling life on earth.  
  
He began to open his eyes, and then thought better of it. His head was pounding, he was confused beyond belief, and he could really use a good sleep.  
  
"Er. Padfoot?" James said.  
  
Sirius grudgingly lifted his eyelids. "I suppose I should be happy that I'm not dead?"  
  
"Harry certainly would be, if he knew," Lily said. "He's-"  
  
"I'll be in the kitchen," Dearborn interrupted loudly, and turned to head for the door.  
  
"Bye, Caradoc," Lily said.  
  
Good riddance, thought Sirius. Even free from Dearborn's distracting glares, he found he didn't have much to say to James and Lily. He tipped his chair onto its two back legs and looked at the ceiling.  
  
"Don't worry, Sirius," Lily told him. "I'm sure we'll find a way to get you out of here."  
  
James reached over and put his hand on Sirius's shoulder. "It's not for nothing that Dumbledore told us we were the brightest in our year."  
  
Sirius let his chair fall forward. "You really think we can do it ourselves?"  
  
James shrugged. "We became Animagi by ourselves, didn't we?"  
  
"Oh, stop it, James, you know you're not alone in this!" Lily said, elbowing him in the ribs.  
  
James turned to face his wife. "I was just thinking that Dearborn might be more of a hindrance than a help, is all," he said. "He and Sirius don't seem to get along too well."  
  
"I noticed," Lily said coolly. "What is it between you two?"  
  
"He's a jealous wanker, is what," Sirius answered loudly enough for his voice to carry through to the kitchen.  
  
"Clearly," James said, even more loudly than Sirius, "it's a clash of two egos, both bigger than Snape's nose." He lowered his voice. "Not to mention he resents that you're my best friend."  
  
"Told you he was a jealous-"  
  
"Jealous or no," Lily said hastily, "we need him to help us understand what's going on. And we can get Ben Fenwick, and the Prewetts and Dorcas Meadowes-"  
  
"Hold on, Lily," Sirius said. "I still don't understand how this concerns Dearborn."  
  
"Remember all those years ago, when Dumbledore told us Dearborn was missing, assumed dead?" said James. "Turns out he wasn't quite dead. Some Death Eater captured him and threw him through the veil. It's a bit of a sore spot for him, doesn't like to talk about it much."  
  
"So he's been here since then, and he still hasn't found a way out?" Sirius shouted. "What the bloody hell has he been doing the last decade and a half? Bollocks, at that rate I'll get back in time to save Harry's grandchildren, if I'm lucky!"  
  
James laughed, but Lily said, "Get yourself together, Sirius. Dearborn told me he hadn't spent any time at all looking into an escape. He's not like you. He doesn't need to get revenge, he doesn't have a godson and friends to go back to."  
  
This didn't surprise Sirius at all. Of all the Gryffindors in his year, it had been Dearborn who had preferred to keep to himself. He wasn't interested in playing Quidditch, taunting Snape, pulling pranks, or sneaking out of school. He had been the quiet one, the shy one. Even during his years in the Order of the Phoenix, he had never taken to socialising. It was to be expected, then, that he would be short of friends even after his years at Hogwarts.  
  
But never, not in a million years, would Sirius have predicted what Dearborn would become. His brains must have been silently growing, his body secretly strengthening all those years, until he became such a force that he was named one of Voldemort's top targets.  
  
Dearborn was sort of frightening, really, although Sirius would never admit it. He was graced with an intimidating appearance- short, black, slicked back hair, thick eyebrows, sideburns reaching below his earlobes, tanned skin, and dark eyes that gave the impression that he was wearing sunglasses. Sirius could never really tell what was going on in Caradoc Dearborn's mind. Only one thing was for certain: he wasn't a nice man.  
  
Looking at Lily now, Sirius threw his hands in the air.  
  
"Whatever," he muttered. "I don't really get Dearborn, but what's it to me?"  
  
Lily smiled. "That's the spirit. And about Harry."  
  
"Yes, about Harry," Sirius spoke up, glad for a change of subject.  
  
"He's not in immediate danger," James said. "There's no need for you to rush off to save anyone, be it him or his grandchildren."  
  
Sirius exhaled slowly. "Are you sure he's all right?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
"What's he doing right now?"  
  
Lily closed her eyes, and for a while said nothing. The laughter drained from her face until all that was left was a sad smile. James looked at her, concerned, and then closed his own eyes. Wrinkles formed in his forehead as he furrowed his brows.  
  
"What is it?" Sirius asked anxiously. "What's wrong?"  
  
Lily looked at him. "Nothing's wrong.."  
  
"Tell me what he's doing, Lily!"  
  
She hesitated, but James laughed softly. "You don't want to mess with that temper, Lily."  
  
"Fine." Lily looked sadder than ever. "You tell him, then."  
  
James turned to Sirius. "Harry's sitting by the lake. By himself."  
  
"It's the last weekend of the term," Sirius said slowly. "Why isn't he with Ron and Hermione?"  
  
James sighed. "He'd rather be with you right now, Sirius. You meant a lot to him."  
  
Sirius's eyes widened. "He's thinking about me? He really misses me that much?"  
  
"And he's not the only one. Moony's in a right state, as well."  
  
Sirius covered his face with his hand. "Shit," he mumbled through his fingers. "I've got to get back to them."  
  
James clapped him on the back. "It can wait for tomorrow, can't it? We've done enough for today. Just take it easy for now, and tonight we'll send you off to Dearborn's-"  
  
"What?" Sirius shouted. "Why do I have to go to his place?"  
  
Lily spoke up. "When Caradoc got shoved through the veil, he landed in. whatever you want to call the place you are right now. He's still alive, you see, and some of those who are truly dead took exception to him right from the start. So he left, and built himself a house far away from other people."  
  
Sirius groaned silently. It was just like Dearborn to live like a hermit- and to expect Sirius to do the same.  
  
"It's not safe for you to stay here," James said. "Just stick it out, please?"  
  
Sirius exhaled forcefully, blowing his hair out of his face. "Only for you, Prongs, mate," he said resignedly. "Only for you." 


	4. Chapter 04

Sirius stepped over the threshold without hesitation. He felt nothing would surprise him anymore; he had given up trying to anticipate and predict. As much as it hurt his pride, he found it easier to simply accept that he knew nothing about his new existence.  
  
The house was quite ordinary, and he found that it suited Dearborn's personality. Like Lily and James's home, it contained both magical and Muggle appliances. A massive, filled gun rack hung on the wall next to a towering bookshelf. Sirius inhaled the scent of old laundry, dirty dishes, and smoke— a smell to be expected from a young male bachelor, living in solitude. Indeed, the smell was quite familiar to Sirius from his years living alone after running away from home.  
  
"You've lived here for how long?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Nearly seventeen years," answered Dearborn, untying his shoes.  
  
"So you've had a lot of time to learn about... about... wherever we are."  
  
"You could say that," said Dearborn. He gestured at a leather armchair in front of the fireplace. "Have a seat. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."  
  
"That's an understatement," muttered Sirius, rubbing his eyes as he sank into his seat. He was sure his head would combust from the shock and confusion. He sympathized completely with Harry, whom no one had ever told what was going on, until it was too late. Harry...  
  
"Can you tell me how to get back to... to Harry, and Remus?" Sirius said loudly.  
  
Dearborn did not answer; he had disappeared momentarily in the full-sized bar that took up half his kitchen. When he returned, he placed a tall glass bottle, a pair of shot glasses, and a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table in front of Sirius.  
  
"I don't know how you can get back," Dearborn said, taking a seat on the couch. "To be honest, I've never tried. But together, maybe with a little more help, we can figure it out. But to do that, you need to understand where you are. And to do that, you need to clear your mind..." Dearborn poured Sirius a drink, and then poured one for himself.  
  
"Thanks," mumbled Sirius, helping himself to a cigarette as well.  
  
For a while the only sound was muffled noise floating in from a TV in another room. With shaking hands Sirius struck a match and lit the cigarette dangling from his lips. He took an enormous drag and watched the smoke curve and swirl gracefully around his head.  
  
After a few minutes, Dearborn spoke. "Relaxed now? Mind a little clearer?"  
  
Sirius nodded.  
  
"Then fire away."  
  
Sirius fished a question at random out of his mind. "Why have you aged these past seventeen years, but James and Lily haven't?"  
  
"They're dead. I'm not. Neither are you."  
  
"But we can see them, and talk to them. So are we in heaven with them?"  
  
Dearborn frowned, and took a deep drag from his cigarette. "Yes, and no."  
  
"We're in hell, then?" Sirius asked hastily.  
  
"Belt up for once, will you, and let me explain." Dearborn took a deep breath and leaned back. "I suppose purgatory or limbo would be the best words to describe where we are, but they're not quite accurate. Purgatory and limbo are for the dead.  
  
"We're still alive. We're... we're in the afterlife early. The realm of the dead, if you want to be poetic. It's divided into heaven and hell, simple as that for the dead, but for us... the dividing line is unclear."  
  
"So we're in neither heaven nor hell?" Sirius said slowly.  
  
"Or both heaven and hell, however you want to look at it," agreed Dearborn. "Either way, we experience both, and it blends to become something quite similar to our lives on earth. Or on the other side of the veil, I should say."  
  
"Are we on earth?"  
  
"No idea. I haven't quite figured out the whole physical aspect of things. It's like trying to understand magic. You can't— you just have to accept it."  
  
Sirius downed another shot. Asking all these questions deeply annoying and debasing, not to mention unfair. Just because Caradoc Dearborn had all the answers didn't mean he was cleverer than Sirius was— yet Sirius was sure Dearborn was loving every minute of this.  
  
"You drink like a champ, mate," Dearborn said dryly.  
  
"Mate, my arse," snarled Sirius. "Get on with it, Dearborn."  
  
"I'll get on with it when I want to, Black," Dearborn retorted. He cleared his throat and continued. "Right. Wherever we are, it's more or less the same as the other side of the veil. Whereas heaven only includes the good things of our world, and hell only the bad."  
  
"Who decides whether a thing is bad or good?"  
  
"Everyone—"  
  
"You mean... they vote?" Sirius said, furrowing his brow.  
  
"Stop interrupting me," Dearborn snapped. "It's no democracy. If heaven has got a government, though, it's a bloody amazing system. Everyone has what he wants, what he thinks is good."  
  
"So heaven is different for everyone."  
  
"Bingo," said Dearborn. "It's fascinating, really. The afterlife is so simple— heaven and hell, black and white. Yet within heaven there must be billions of shades of white. And a billion shades of black in hell."  
  
Sirius closed his eyes, shook his head— anything to help him absorb this reality faster. "It's all very strange to me to find that heaven isn't some cloud-land in the sky, everything soft and nice and serene and divine, like little kids always imagine...."  
  
Dearborn exhaled sharply in frustration. "I thought you were bright, Black!" he said churlishly. Sirius bit his tongue. "Maybe that is heaven for someone— someone who clung very passionately to hopes of someday living in that idealistic vision of heaven. Or someone who loved clouds.  
  
"Lily and James loved life," Dearborn continued. "That's why their heaven so closely resembles what they should have had on earth— a very normal, happy family life. They're just waiting for Harry to join them, now."  
  
Sirius took another drink. Hopefully, they'll be waiting a long while... he thought.  
  
"If everyone's heaven and hell are different," Sirius said, "then why are we experiencing the same things?"  
  
Dearborn snorted. "Are you sure?"  
  
"What are you talking about?" said Sirius loudly, losing patience.  
  
Dearborn nodded at the glass in Sirius's hand. "What's in that bottle? What are you drinking?"  
  
Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Rum..." he said slowly, glancing at the label on the bottle in front of him. "Bacardi™ Gold. You should know, you're drinking it too—"  
  
"Wrong," said Dearborn, so quickly that Sirius jumped. "I'm drinking Ogden's. Sure, it came from the same bottle, but... shades of white, you know. Ogden's is my favourite."  
  
"And rum mine," Sirius said. "Picked up a taste for it while I spent some time in Jamaica two years back—"  
  
"Yes," Dearborn said lightly. "So... where were we?"  
  
"How is this— what do you call this place that we are?"  
  
"Well, I used to call it Caradoc Land, when I was the only one here. Now, I guess I would call it the grey. The true grey, actually."  
  
"Right, then, how's this... grey different from pure heaven?"  
  
Dearborn sat back, looking thoughtful. For one triumphant minute Sirius was sure he had stumped him; but soon Dearborn answered. "As far as I can tell... well, it's hard to explain. Take this as an example."  
  
He held up his cigarette. "As far as I'm concerned, cigarettes are a good thing. That's why I have some in my heaven."  
  
Sirius nodded his agreement.  
  
"However," Dearborn said, voice raised slightly, "they are also dangerous. The fact that this cigarette is giving me cancer is the part of my hell that is showing through my heaven. Like I said, it mirrors real life." He paused in his speech to show his cigarette his middle finger.  
  
"If James were still a smoker," Dearborn continued, "I'm sure that since he's in heaven, he could light up whenever he wanted and still be in perfect health. Wouldn't get addicted, either."  
  
"So he'll never get sick, or hurt?"  
  
"Not unless he wanted to. But James never struck me as the masochistic type."  
  
"Far from it," Sirius said quickly. Somehow, he was annoyed that Dearborn was trying to tell him about James, as though he knew James better than Sirius himself did. "So in hell, does smoking automatically kill? Or does it not have its good effects, but only the bad?"  
  
"I've never stopped a Death Eater to ask," said Dearborn.  
  
Death Eaters... A muted anger filled Sirius's chest. "Do all Death Eaters go to hell?" he asked, trying not to sound bitter.  
  
"No more than all Christians go to heaven," said Dearborn lightly. "In fact—"  
  
"But, then, couldn't they attack Lily and James and the others?" Sirius interrupted. "What happens if you die in the afterlife, anyway?"  
  
"The Death Eaters that made it into heaven don't want to kill. Take your brother, for example. He's in heaven because he stuck to what he believed was right— even if that belief was the superiority of purebloods, something that is wrong to you and I. Regulus chose the hard path of servitude to Voldemort because he believed he was doing good for the world."  
  
Sirius stood up abruptly. "You're lying."  
  
Dearborn stared up at him incredulously. "Of course I'm not lying. Sit your arse down, Black."  
  
Sirius did not sit his arse down, but rather remained standing. "That little wanker made my parents hate me, became a Death Eater, and got himself killed out of stupid cowardice, and he still gets into heaven?" he fumed.  
  
"Stupid, perhaps," said Dearborn. "But not a coward, no... It took him as much bravery to fight for Voldemort as it takes the Order of the Phoenix to fight against him. Do you think being a Death Eater is easy and fun?"  
  
"Trixieseemed to have a bloody good time killing me—" Sirius growled.  
  
"Bellatrix Lestrange kills and tortures for sport. Your brother died because he refused to kill and torture."  
  
"Evil, whiny, spoiled little brat—"  
  
"Nobody truly, honestly, thinks killing and torturing are doing good in the world," Dearborn continued, ignoring Sirius.  
  
"Mummy and daddy's precious ickle Death Eater—"  
  
"Just remember that the dead are judged not on what they believe, but on how they act according to their beliefs."  
  
Sirius stopped rambling as an entirely new question surfaced in his mind. "Who does the judging?"  
  
Dearborn shrugged. "I've never been judged, and I aim to never be."  
  
The new silence was broken by the sound of the TV. Dearborn rose to turn it off, and left Sirius alone with his rum, his anger, and his pounding headache. 


	5. Chapter 05

Dearborn shook Sirius awake early the next morning.

"Target practice," he said gruffly. "Let's go."

Sirius didn't open his eyes, but managed to frown. "We're stuck here for all of the foreseeable future, and you can't find time for a lie-in?" he grumbled.

"There's no telling how long it will take for you to learn to defend yourself," Dearborn said delicately as he retreated into the kitchen.

The hint of condescension in Dearborn's voice was enough to spur Sirius to action. He threw back the sheets with unnecessary force and got to his feet. He pulled on his robes and joined his host for a breakfast of toast and coffee.

"Not a morning person, are you?" said Dearborn nimbly.

Sirius ignored him and sipped his coffee. His headache from the night before had only worsened, and he was less than keen on spending an entire day with Dearborn, biting his tongue as he listened to his veiled insults.

Half an hour later they were outside, facing the newly risen sun and holding revolvers.

"Now, firearms are far easier to operate than wands—no movements or incantations to remember. But what you must consider is that when Muggles duel with these, they mean to kill or maim. With guns, every curse is an Unforgiveable."

"How do you mean?"

"_Crucio_," said Dearborn, and pointed his gun at Sirius's kneecaps. Then he raised it to the side of Sirius's head. "Do as I say or I'll blow your fucking brains out. _Imperio_!"

Sirius instinctively gripped his own weapon. He knew what was coming next…

"_Avada Kedavra_," Dearborn whispered, taking aim between Sirius's eyes. He mimicked the pull of the trigger, the recoil of the gun, and laughed. "Pow! Got it?"

By way of a response, Sirius raised his gun, focusing hard on the target Dearborn had conjured some thirty feet away. He fired; his bullet sailed wide and lodged itself in the trunk of a tree.

"Could have been worse," Dearborn said indifferently. He proceeded to shoot three bulls-eyes in a row.

'Show-off,' Sirius thought darkly. He grudgingly allowed him to explain the proper way to aim and hold the gun steady. He set his mind on mastering the ridiculous Muggle weapon, more to silence Dearborn than anything else.

Just as he was growing accustomed to the feel of the smooth metal in his hands, however, it was replaced by the cool grip of a knife handle. He practised wielding blades of various sizes, from tiny switchknives to full-length swords. Then, Dearborn insisted on a crash course in techniques for fistfighting. Finally, hours later, Dearborn pronounced himself satisfied with the day's work.

"Muggles are mad," said Sirius, shaking his head as they walked slowly back towards the house. His ears were ringing from repeated gunshots, and every muscle was aching from the rigours of hand-to-hand combat. "It's a wonder they bother duelling at all, considering the effort involved. And no way to heal themselves on the spot!"

"Hence the need for wizarding secrecy," said Dearborn. "But you'd best get used to fighting like a Muggle, because your enemies here are no longer wizards."

"But they're still Death Eaters!" Sirius protested.

"They have no magic. If you use magic against them, you may as well be a Death Eater yourself."

"Fighting them with magic would bring about more good than it would cause harm," said Sirius stubbornly.

Dearborn said lightly, "That's your philosophy. But if you ever return through the veil, you could be held accountable for your actions, and the Ministry will not agree with you. I suppose it comes down to how much you miss Azkaban—"

Sirius whirled round and glared at him. The look on his face was so ugly that even Dearborn seemed cowed.

"Don't talk to me about that place," he snapped, "unless it's to point out that I escaped from there, and so surely I will find a way to escape from here."

Dearborn recovered quickly and said, "I only meant to point out what a shame it would be if you were cleared of Peter's murder, only to be charged with an entirely new crime—"

"Look," said Sirius, his voice shaking with anger. "I witnessed Rosier put three bullets through Wilkes's chest. Not five minutes later, Wilkes was up and about as if nothing had happened. What's the point of guns and knives if the bastards can't even die?"

"Of course they can't die, they're already dead," Dearborn said impatiently.

"_Then what's the bloody point?_" Sirius yelled.

"The point is that you are _not _dead, and therefore it is entirely possible that you _can _die."

"And what would happen then?" asked Sirius, who hadn't seriously considered this.

Dearborn looked at him. "We—we're not sure," he admitted. "Nobody is. Which is why I have taken such great care not to get myself killed, and I strongly advise that you do the same."

"Don't you see how magic could solve this?" Sirius said, frustrated. "If they can't be killed, maybe they could at least be Stunned, or something—something that would at least allow me to escape if I needed to…" His voice trailed off.

Dearborn thought for a moment. Finally, he said, "I have never found myself in a situation here that required magic. You should be able to take care of yourself without using your wand—if you're clever and strong enough, that is," he added, looking sideways at Sirius. He turned and walked into the house.

"That's because you're too scared to try to find a way back! Too lazy! Too apathetic!" Sirius shouted at Dearborn's back, but he received no reply.

He stood in the garden, fuming, for several minutes. How could Dearborn be content to stay in this place? Although he was satisfied that Harry was in no immediate danger, Sirius knew that the war was now well under way. Sooner or later, Harry would need him. And it pained him to think of Remus alone once again, as he had been while Sirius was in Azkaban…

"I've got to get out of here," he muttered to himself.

"What, sick of us already?" said a friendly voice behind him.

Startled, Sirius whipped around and saw Lily and James, hand in hand, making their way up the garden path. He let out a sigh of relief and let go of the knife sheathed in his belt.

"You gave me quite a fright," he told them as he unlocked the gate for them.

"We thought we'd pop by and say hello," Lily said. "Had a good day?"

"I suppose it could've been worse," he grumbled. "I suppose Dearborn could've shot me in the arse for fun."

James laughed. "Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't."

"Don't laugh, I've been half expecting it all day," Sirius said wearily, but he grinned all the same. He felt his spirits rising in the company of his long-absent best friend. "Listen, do I really have to stay here? Are you sure I couldn't crash at your place?"

The smile faded from James's face. "Look, mate, I'd like nothing better than to have you around. But it's just not safe."

"Our neighbours don't take too kindly to the living who stray into heaven," Lily said quietly. "Some just don't want to be bothered with anything earthly anymore. Others feel you're trying to cheat—to get your reward without having to die."

"But that's not it at all!" said Sirius incredulously. "I didn't ask for this, I don't even want to be here! I mean—don't get me wrong, it's been really excellent to see you—"

"We know," James said quickly. "We understand—it's just not your time."

Sirius exhaled vehemently and said, "_Exactly_." He sat down on a nearby boulder, shoulders sagging, head in his hands.

"Please don't worry, Sirius," Lily said, as she and her husband sat down on a bench opposite. "We're going to do everything we can to help you. And so will Caradoc—I know you don't like him much, but he's really all right."

"Rosier knows," Sirius muttered through his fingers. He looked up at his friends. "Did I tell you that? Rosier reckons he can help me get back through the veil."

When James and Lily looked sceptical, he continued, "It's not that unlikely. We know Voldemort's obsessed with conquering death, right? If anyone knows a way to get out of this place, it's him. And it would make sense for him to tell his followers about it—a live Death Eater is more useful than a dead one, after all."

"But if Rosier knows how to get out of hell, why is he still there?" said James, frowning.

"Maybe it's a spell," Lily suggested, "and he can't do it because he's a Squib now."

Sirius said, "Well, he mentioned some sort of key—asked me to get it for him. Is there a locked door somewhere that leads back through the veil?"

James and Lily exchanged an apprehensive look.

"What?" asked Sirius.

"That key won't bring him back to life," James said slowly.

"You know it?"

"The Sisyphean Keys," Lily said. "You see, everyone in hell is there because they wronged somebody intentionally. It's a fitting punishment that only their victims possess—and have the power to turn—the Keys that will let them into heaven."

"Most everyone there is absolutely obsessed with their Key," James added. "It's their only hope, and it's all they think about. They spend all their time planning and plotting to get it turned…"

"Do many of them get turned?" Sirius asked.

Lily shook her head. "It's not easy to forgive terrible things," she said softly. "And the thing is, no one in heaven has to think about anything unless they want to. It's far easier to simply forget, rather than to feel guilty about keeping someone in hell, or to worry about such a difficult decision."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "So if I want to get back through the veil, I've got to let Rosier into heaven?"

"Please don't," Lily implored. "Remember, he's there for a reason…"

"There must be another way," James agreed. "Let's not count on Death Eaters for help."

Sirius said nothing. Next moment, the door opened and Dearborn emerged from his house, his wet hair indicating that he had just got out of the shower.

"Hello James, Lily," he said, nodding at each in turn. "I thought I heard voices out here."

"We were just discussing the Sisyphean Keys," said James, and Dearborn raised his eyebrows in interest. "Sirius says Rosier promised to show him back through the veil in exchange for his Key."

"Don't," Dearborn said immediately. He conjured a chair and took a seat. "Unless, of course, you wish to prove your idiocy beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"_Fine_," Sirius snapped.

A tense silence followed, in which Lily glared reproachfully at Dearborn. Sirius cast his mind around for something to say. Finally he turned to James and asked, "So… have you got any of these Keys lying around your place?"

"Oh—no. Not yet, anyway."

"We expect we might get Peter's, when the time comes," Lily said. "If he does end up there, that is…"

"He will," said Sirius, with such conviction that James and Lily both winced. "You don't think you'll get Voldemort's?"

"I reckon a lot of Keys will need to be turned before Voldemort ever sets foot in heaven," James said darkly. "It won't happen."

"Well, before we worry about keeping him in hell where he belongs, we ought to focus on killing him first," Sirius said. "That's difficult enough as it is."

"Who wants a drink?" asked Dearborn, standing abruptly. Everyone stared at him, but he did not wait for a response before retreating back into the house.

The rest of the evening was enjoyable. Lily and James stayed for dinner and drinks afterward. Sirius often found himself thinking, 'If only Remus were here instead of Dearborn, this would be perfect'—and once or twice he said it aloud to James, without bothering to check whether Dearborn was within earshot.

But when his friends had left and he lay in bed, his mind drifted back to Rosier's promise and the Sisyphean Keys. It was easy for the others to tell him not to act, to wait for a safer plan; but he would not stand to hear it. Not after a miserable year shut up in that desolate house, a miserable year of being told to be careful, to behave. Now, he had a problem and a plan to solve it, and he was not about to let a bit of danger stand in his way.

He had made up his mind. Silently he got out of bed and got dressed. He slipped a pistol into his left pocket and his wand into his right. The sounds of his footsteps and the door creaking open were safely drowned out by Dearborn's snores drifting from down the hall.

Pulling his robes tighter around him against the windy night, he set off for Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place—his brother's heavenly abode.


	6. Chapter 06

Sirius trekked through the park that bordered his brother's street, careful to stay quiet and in the shadows. The last thing he wanted was to alert the locals to his presence. Fortunately, every house was dark, and nobody seemed to be stirring; evidently, insomnia was rare in heaven.

He crept across the lane and up the stairs that led to the front door. He tapped the door with his wand and muttered the old incantation that his father had designed long ago, to allow only Black family members to enter. Several locks clicked. Gently he prised open the door and stepped inside.

Sirius shuddered instinctively at the familiar sight and smell of his boyhood home. The house was neither in its renovated state as the Order of the Phoenix had known it, nor in the utter disrepair that had marked the years after his mother's death. Rather, it showed every sign of an active family life: a couple of racing brooms propped in a corner, books left open on coffee tables and desks, the last of the dying embers smouldering in the fireplace. The décor, he noticed, was as gruesome as ever.

He pressed his ear to the door to the basement kitchen. Hearing no signs of life from below, he tiptoed upstairs. He passed the first floor—on which, he realised with a jolt of panic, his parents might be sleeping—and proceeded to the second. He passed his old room, wondered briefly what would happen to Buckbeak in his absence, and then stopped outside of his younger brother's bedroom.

Peaceful, even breathing was barely audible through the thick door. Sirius opened it and entered as quietly as he could, but there was no dust to muffle the sound of his footsteps. Regulus stirred and called out, "Who's there?" He lit his wand and pointed it around the room until it illuminated his brother's face.

Squinting into the light, Sirius lit his own wand. Regulus was gaping at him.

"Rather jumpy for being in heaven, aren't you?" Sirius spat at once.

"What are _you _doing here?" Regulus replied, in an equally harsh tone.

"What, weren't you watching the big battle in the Department of Mysteries a few days ago? Or couldn't you stand to see Dumbledore putting your old mates to shame?"

Sirius hadn't seen his brother for over a decade, but the resentment he felt towards him had not abated. Nevertheless, he couldn't help noticing that Regulus seemed a bit different than he remembered—it was his voice, he decided. He no longer spoke in a petulant whine, but with a bit of dignity, a shade of pride…

"It can't have gone that well for you lot, or you wouldn't be _here_," Regulus was saying.

"Well, I won't be here for long."

Regulus laughed openly. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so," said Sirius through gritted teeth. "Perhaps you didn't know, but I have a history of impressive escapes."

"I heard a rumour," Regulus said, sounding bored. "But this isn't Azkaban. Magic itself keeps us here. There's no need for guards and walls, and not even a Black could leave…"

"How do you even know that?"

He shrugged.

Firing up, Sirius said, "Look. I'm not dead. I don't belong here. I have plenty of business to take care of back home. There's a way for me to get back, and _you _are standing in my way."

"Me, in your way?" scoffed Regulus. "Don't accuse me of that rubbish, you're the one who came over here to bother me—"

"The Key," Sirius said shortly. "I need Rosier's Key."

Regulus stared. After a few moments' stunned silence he laughed weakly. "No. No, absolutely not."

"Why not?" Sirius demanded. "What use is it to you?"

"Use?" his brother said distantly. "It's not about use. It's the principle of it—"

"There are more important things than principles, you idiot."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like reality."

"Well, my principles were strong enough to get me killed, so don't expect me to throw them out so easily for a Gryffindor arsehole like you."

"So by 'principles,' you mean pureblood supremacy and cowardice, do you?" Sirius growled.

At this, Regulus jumped to his feet and pointed his wand at Sirius's chest.

"Don't," he said with a voice that shook almost as hard as his hand, "call me a coward."

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" Sirius said roughly.

Regulus laughed. "No, your half-baked assumptions don't hurt me. The real truth did, though…"

"What are you talking about?"

Regulus stepped forward until his face was inches from his brother's; his features were glowing with defiant pride.

"Never bothered to find out just how I died, did you? Never cared enough to learn what your little brother made of his life?"

"Why should I have done? If you ask Mum or Dad, they'll tell you I'm neither their son nor your brother, anyway."

"Don't blame me for the way they treated you," Regulus warned him. "And keep in mind that I'm in heaven, and you are only standing here talking to me because I allow it. Now belt up, and let me finish.

"I'm well aware that you hate almost everything about me and my life. You can put me down all you want—I don't give a flying fuck, because I know that I never did anything I thought was wrong.

"As a Death Eater, I suffered for a cause I believed in. Later I turned against that way of life—not because I was frightened or weak or tired of the pain and effort, but because the experience had educated me and it was no longer justified in my eyes. I knew, even as I made that decision, that I would pay dearly for it—and so I did. Nearly sixteen years I've been here, watching life continue on without me; and I've yet to see a single death more terrible than mine was."

Sirius listened, expecting each new word to introduce the twist of bitterness that always accompanied his own recollections of the wrongs done to him, of his miserable childhood and his years in Azkaban. But it never came; his brother's voice was unflinchingly calm.

"I don't regret it, though," Regulus continued. "Plenty of Death Eaters, dead and alive, chose the wrong path out of fear or greed. I've seen the state of them. Better to die like me than to have to live with that guilt. It eats at the soul; it is an endless, mental Cruciatus Curse. But I redeemed myself, and now my conscience is clear. Peace of mind is worth more than anything the Dark Lord could ever offer."

He looked up at Sirius, who was at a loss for words.

"I have nothing left to say tonight," said Regulus quietly. "Maybe one day you'll return with something more than arrogant demands and trifling insults. But I'm tired, and right now I'd rather you weren't here. Goodnight."

Instantly, Sirius found himself standing on the pavement outside Number Twelve. Looking up, he saw that the front door had vanished. He cursed under his breath, but he was finding it difficult to be angry with Regulus at the moment.

He sat down on the steps, chin in his hands. He remained there until the sun began to rise. Not keen to be harrassed by his brother's neighbours, he turned his back on Rosier's Key and began the walk back to Dearborn's house.

**A/N: **I am currently seeking a reliable, competent beta or two for this story (starting with Chapter 5) before submitting it to Fiction Alley. Please e-mail if interested.


	7. Chapter 07

A year passed, during which Sirius neither saw nor heard from his brother. He never abandoned the idea of using Rosier's Key as leverage in his quest to get back through the veil, though he took care not to mention it to James, Lily, or Dearborn. He knew they would insist that he shouldn't trust Rosier, that the risk was far too great and that the Death Eater simply shouldn't be allowed into heaven.

But the fact remained that he was now dwelling on Rosier's Key as much as Rosier himself must have been doing. After all, it represented freedom for both of them. And while the others would never approve of such a plan, it grew more attractive to Sirius each day. He couldn't shake the feeling that the Key was his only hope.

They had made precious little progress towards an alternative plan. Lily and James had asked everyone they knew for advice—other deceased members of the Order of the Phoenix, old friends and relatives, and even Nicolas Flamel. They had been sure that no wizard knew more about life and death than the creator of the Philosopher's Stone, but the best he could do was to share the little he knew about the veil.

"He worked in the Department of Mysteries when he was much younger," Lily reported to Sirius and Dearborn as they sat down to drinks in her tidy sitting room. She and James had invited the others over for dinner. "In the Death Room, no less."

"He never went through the veil himself, but some of his colleagues did," said James. "Brave blokes. Most only reappeared decades later, very old or very ill or both. None of them knew how they'd got back, and they all died of natural causes soon afterwards."

Sirius exhaled loudly, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not staying here for decades."

"God help us if you do," muttered Dearborn.

Sirius glared, and Lily said, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Caradoc."

"I'm content to live out the rest of my days here," Dearborn retorted. "I don't fancy spending all of them helping Reckless Black here find his way out."

Sirius slammed his glass down on the table. Dearborn narrowed his eyes, seized a pack of cigarettes and stormed out of the kitchen.

"What's with him?" Sirius snarled, with a year's worth of pent-up frustration.

"Oh, Sirius… please don't take it personally," said Lily. "Don't you see? Ever since you arrived, he's been a bit ashamed for wanting to stay here. He sees how eager you are to get back and help the Order, and he feels guilty for not wanting to do the same."

"Well, he should!"

"You can't blame him," Lily said gently. "He doesn't have a Remus to go home to, nor a Harry…"

Sirius looked out the window to see Dearborn holding a pistol out in front of him, dangling a cigarette between his lips, aiming at a row of empty bottles he had arranged on the garden fence. Even in the dark, he didn't miss a single one.

Lily implored, "Just try to put up with him. He doesn't really hate you. He's even told me he's impressed to see how good you are with the knives now. And after all, he wouldn't be helping us if he didn't want to… I think this is his way of helping the Order without having to actually leave this place."

"Lily, look," said James suddenly. His voice was strained, his eyes were closed, and he looked rather pale.

Frowning, Lily closed her eyes as well.

"What?" said Sirius at once. "What's happening?"

Lily waved her hand to shush him, concentrating on whatever vision was before her eyes.

Concerned, Sirius got up and went outside to where Dearborn was magically repairing the shattered bottles and placing them back on the fence.

"Dearborn," he said, carefully keeping his voice polite, "you may want to come back inside."

"What's up?" Dearborn replied, with equal civility. Clearly, target practice had done wonders to relieve his tension.

"I don't know. Something's wrong, though. Lily and James are watching."

"Alright. The neighbours were starting to glare at me, anyway."

Dearborn abandoned his bottles and followed Sirius back into the kitchen. James looked worried, but Lily looked almost sick with apprehension. Her eyes were still shut tight.

"Dumbledore's ill," James told them as they sat down. "Very ill. Drank some sort of Dark potion—"

"A Dark potion?" Sirius said loudly. "Why? Did Snape trick him into it? I knew he wasn't to be trusted!"

Lily opened her eyes just long enough to give him a pained look and shake her head.

"Snape had nothing to do with it," James confirmed. "It was Voldemort. He used a potion to guard one of his Horcruxes. Dumbledore and Harry went looking for it—"

"Hang on," interrupted Sirius. "_Horcruxes_?" The term sounded vaguely familiar.

"Shards of soul, encased in inanimate objects," James explained. "The only reason Voldemort didn't die the same night we did, is because a part of his soul lived on in the locket that Dumbledore is carrying at this very moment."

"Where are they now?" asked Sirius, too concerned about Harry to give much more thought to Horcruxes at the moment.

"They've just managed to escape a horde of angry Inferi. Now they're flying back to Hogwarts," Lily answered weakly. "But there are Death Eaters in Hogwarts…"

Sirius nervously ran a hand through his hair. His heart was racing, and all he could do was to sit and wait for news. It was worse, a million times worse, than being confined to Grimmauld Place. There, at least he had been in the same dimension as everyone else, and always knew he could leave to help Harry if he was needed…

"Harry's been immobilised, Dumbledore's been Disarmed—" said James.

"By whom?" asked Dearborn, sounding dubious.

"The Malfoy boy. He's talking to Dumbledore, saying he's going to kill him—"

Sirius laughed aloud in relief. "You had me worried there, I thought there was a _real _Death Eater to deal with, not just Lucius Malfoy's brat."

But no sooner had the words left his mouth than James said, "Looks like Dumbledore talked him out of it—wait—oh, _bugger_, the Carrows are there, and Fenrir Greyback—"

Sirius's mouth instantly went dry. "Greyback? With Harry?"

"Harry's under the Invisibility Cloak. They don't know he's there. And so far no one's touched Dumbledore, either…"

Minutes passed in silence. Sirius waited, gripping the arms of his chair as hard as he could. Dearborn had wrapped a sweaty palm around his glass as if trying to crush it.

Without warning, James and Lily gasped.

"What? What is it?" demanded Sirius, standing abruptly.

But both of his friends seemed too shaken to speak.

Slowly the shock on James's face gave way to anger. Looking up at Sirius, at last he managed to say, "Snape."

"What about him?"

"Dumbledore… he's dead."

"_What_?"

James swallowed. "Snape killed Dumbledore."

Beside him, Lily sat with her head in her hands. Apparently, she could no longer bear to watch—tears dropped silently from her wide open eyes. James reached over to dry them.

Meanwhile, a sort of dull horror washed slowly over Sirius. At a loss for words, he looked over at Dearborn, who seemed nothing short of flabbergasted. Sirius understood his astonishment—it was quite surreal to hear that the best wizard in the world had been murdered. And by _Snivellus_, no less! Sirius's blood began to boil at the very thought. The old hatred that had never really disappeared now ran unchecked through his veins, no longer suppressed by the grudging belief that they were on the same side. Dumbledore had insisted that they cooperate with each other—well, Snape had taken Dumbledore out of the picture…

"Traitorous, murdering bastard!" he growled, slamming his fist on the table. "I'll kill him someday!"

"Sirius, don't," pleaded Lily through her fingers.

"How can you possibly defend him after what he's done?" said James, looking at his wife in disbelief.

"You don't know—things aren't always what they seem…"

Dearborn shook his head. "Lily, think of the Order. Think what kind of shape they're going to be in without their founder! And think of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, with his greatest enemy out of the way."

Lily sighed; but glancing at Sirius, she said, "You're right. You're absolutely right, it was a terrible thing to have done." Perhaps just to have something to do, she got up to make tea.

Satisfied, James and Sirius engaged at once in the harshest verbal abuse of Snape that had been heard in twenty-odd years. It was like old times; Sirius took a strange comfort in cursing his name. They were interrupted, however, by a sharp knock at the door. Bewildered, James rose to answer it.

"_Dumbledore!_"

James held the door open and Albus Dumbledore, clad in magnificent purple and silver robes, stepped inside. Sirius's jaw dropped; the Headmaster's face was barely lined, and his hair and beard were a youthful auburn. Clearly, this was a Dumbledore in the prime of his life.

"James, Lily," said Dumbledore, with a nod and a serene smile. But when he caught sight of Sirius, he looked quite as shocked as Sirius felt, and even more so when he saw Dearborn sitting beside him. A moment later, however, the smile had returned.

Looking between them, he said, "I must admit, I had not expected to see either of you here. Caradoc, because we never found evidence of your death. And Sirius, because the veil has never been well understood—"

"It's not well understood from this side of it either," Sirius said bitterly.

"I'm afraid a newcomer like myself cannot offer much insight. But no matter—what's done is done. We are but spectators now; and this is no place for regrets. We can only—" he stopped suddenly, now looking shrewdly between James and Dearborn. At last he said softly, "Caradoc. You have aged."

Everybody nodded. Dumbledore chuckled and said, "It appears that I am more of a tenderfoot than I thought. How fortunate that I find myself in the presence of four most able teachers."

With that, he dropped into a chair and folded his hands, looking around with the air of a schoolboy eager to learn. The others, seated around the table, exchanged incredulous glances, entirely flummoxed at being asked to lecture Albus Dumbledore.

At last Lily, being the first to recover from the shock, spoke.

"You see, Professor," she said, "we think that Caradoc and Sirius aren't quite dead. James and I found Caradoc here shortly after we died; but before long we noticed that he didn't perceive things in the same way we did. His experience seemed more fitting for a living person than a dead one. It made more sense when he told us he hadn't been killed, exactly, but rather thrown through the veil."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, closing his eyes. "And naturally, Sirius has found himself in the same state."

James replied, "Yes. Of course, we're not _entirely _sure what that state entails. But we have no reason to believe that Sirius and Dearborn are dead at all. It seems more likely that they are still alive, and merely misplaced in the afterlife."

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said with enthusiasm. "Then—if that is indeed the case—I was quite wrong to claim that we are merely spectators."

"Not necessarily, Professor," Dearborn said. "I've been here eighteen years, and haven't heard so much as a whisper of how to get back through the veil. We may be spectators yet."

"I've heard a whisper," Sirius said, out of the blue. He couldn't wait any longer—and perhaps, he thought, Dumbledore would have a different view of the matter.

"I've spoken to Evan Rosier," he continued, ignoring the others' looks of exasperation. "The Death Eater. He knows how I can get out of here, and he'll tell me in exchange for a favour…"

Sirius described Rosier's request, talking more and more loudly to drown out the three voices now shouting objections. Dumbledore listened thoughtfully, unfazed by the commotion, and soon the arguing subsided in interest of hearing what the Headmaster had to say.

"I think," he said slowly, "that we do not yet have enough cause to hand over one of the Sisyphean Keys. Quite apart from the ethical implications of such an act, we must consider the consequences of disturbing the natural order of the magical afterlife. I shall be happy to research this topic so we can continue to make informed decisions.

"In the meantime, we do no harm by waiting. I have left our cause in good hands—several of them, in fact. We shall watch as the war unfolds, and we shall reserve this drastic solution for case of emergency. Otherwise, we simply wait for the opportune moment. Now, Lily, if I could have a word?"

He rose and left the room; Lily followed him. James and Dearborn were nodding in agreement with Dumbledore's decision.

Sirius slumped onto the table, head in his hands. He hated being a spectator.

"Cheer up, mate," said James. "Here, have another rum."

Sirius accepted it without a word. He knew what was in store: waiting, indefinite waiting, all the while watching his life pass him by.

Just like in Azkaban.

When everything was quiet, when he lay awake at night thinking of his empty future, he heard it—like a malevolent ghost haunting his mind, the disembodied sound of a clock. It was mocking him.

Just like in Azkaban.

Tick, tock.


	8. Chapter 08

Months passed with no word from Dumbledore. Sirius's impatience, which had been so acute the night of the Headmaster's death, ripened into constant and consuming frustration. The thought of Snape running free while he, Sirius, was more hopelessly trapped than he had been in either Azkaban or Grimmauld Place put him in such a foul mood that even Dearborn went out of his way to cheer him up.

"Look at it this way," said Dearborn one evening, as he and Sirius sat down on a fallen tree to rest after an hour's swordplay practice. "If we haven't heard from Dumbledore, it means he must still be confident in the Order's chances. Things must be going well."

Sirius sheathed his sword with the ferocity of a rabid dog. "It's the difference between being remembered as a hero, and being remembered as just one of many casualties along the way."

"Rubbish. You're already in the history books—"

"For getting framed for James and Lily's murder, and escaping only to die two years later. What have I accomplished? _Nothing!_"

Dearborn leaned forward. "Look. From what I've heard from Lily and James, you meant the world to Harry. Or rather, you _do mean_ the world to him—he just doesn't know you're still alive. You will always be remembered for what you meant to Harry…"

"Only if he survives to tell his story."

"Then all the more reason to be ready to fight. If you are called to act, you must be prepared to do so. It won't matter if you're given the chance to finish your story, if you've nothing left to write." Dearborn jumped to his feet and drew his sword. "Come on, you've been a bit slow to parry today. Pretend I am He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Grudgingly, Sirius got to his feet as well. He had to admit—mastering the sword, knife and gun was a useful distraction from his troubles.

He found solace in James and Lily, as well. Sympathetic to his plight, and as eager as he was to see Harry succeed, they could always be counted on for a word of consolation. The happiness of their company was enough to mask—if only temporarily—the anxiety that gnawed restlessly at his gut. At times, when he was joking and reminiscing with his old friends, he even forgot that anything was wrong at all.

It was during one such moment that Sirius was forcefully reminded that something was very wrong indeed.

He had been lounging on a grassy hill outside Dearborn's house with James and Lily beside him, watching the sun set and the night arrive. The October air was cold, but refreshingly so. The foliage around them waved in the crisp breeze; as the evening progressed its wealth of colours faded into a thousand shades of grey.

Sirius sighed as he reclined in the cold grass, looking up at the brilliant lights that dappled the sky.

"Isn't it wonderful," he said, "to think that one day Remus will be here with us? And he'll be able to look up at the full moon without any fear. He'll be able to appreciate its beauty, enjoy it just like everyone else…"

Sirius felt, rather than saw, James's eyes upon him in the dark.

"It is," James said quietly.

"Of course, we'd still have Harry to worry about," Sirius mused.

"And our grandchildren after that," agreed Lily. "You know, I've often wondered how long we will concern ourselves with everything happening on earth. Surely not for ever; at some point we must leave all life behind and simply _rest_."

"I suppose we concern ourselves with the people we care about, who are still alive," James said to her. "And once they're with us, we can stop watching the world."

"I suppose. After all, the rest of its people won't miss us…"

Sirius tried not to listen. He felt as though he was intruding on something he might never be a part of. In his mind's eye he saw everyone he knew and loved, looking forward to an eternity of youth and happiness in heaven, while he, Sirius, tried to join in, tried to keep up with the others as he grew old, tried to smile with them and not worry about his uncertain present and unthinkable future…

The trees were now so black that they were indistinguishable from the night sky. They might not have been there at all, if not for the faint sound of their leaves still rustling in the autumn wind.

"Sirius Black!" shouted a voice in the darkness.

"_Lumos_," said Sirius, in chorus with Lily and James.

Albus Dumbledore was striding up the hill, his arms overflowing with ancient-looking books and scrolls. Dearborn was following close behind.

As they approached, Sirius began to fire questions at Dumbledore at a rapid pace. "What's going on? Is Harry in trouble? Did you figure out how I can get out of here?"

Dumbledore waved a hand impatiently; a few scrolls fell from his arms and hovered above the ground.

"No, Harry is in not in immediate danger, which is fortunate because no, I have not found a way for you to get back through the veil." When Sirius's face fell, Dumbledore waved his hand again and continued, "I have, however, obtained some long lost information that might… open some doors for us, so to speak."

"Is it to do with the Sisyphean Keys?" asked Lily.

"As a matter of fact, it does," said Dumbledore. "It seems that their consequences are not as dire as I had suspected. From our point of view, that is—for Evan Rosier and his peers, the Keys' effects are rather worse than they believe."

"Well, that's excellent news, isn't it?" said Sirius.

"Yes and no," Dumbledore replied. He settled himself on the grass beside the others and his wand hung in the air above them, bathing them all in gentle light. "You see, the effects of the Sisyphean Keys are generally only _temporary_. Now, as you know, the common belief is that by turning a Sisyphean Key, one can grant an afterlife in heaven to somebody already imprisoned in hell. The purpose of such an act of forgiveness, however, is not to erase a misdeed from memory and consideration; it is to grant a second chance."

"So in other words, forgive but not forget?" James said.

"More or less. And all the better—forgetting is a most unwise thing to do."

"But how can they have a second chance, if they're already dead?" asked Sirius.

"Ah. Therein lies the dilemma." Dumbledore selected a crumbling book and opened it to a page containing a long series of odd, intricate symbols. Sirius and James glanced at each other and shrugged, but Dearborn and Lily both raised their eyebrows in interest. "The ancients' consensus was that a neatly ordered afterlife does indeed exist. This view was widely accepted for centuries, until something—perhaps their researches using the veil—suggested that these ethereal boundaries were not so clear cut. These Harappan runes indicate an infinite number of separate planes of existence, arranged along a spectrum or gradient."

"And they say here that no soul is fixed in one plane," said Lily, pointing to a line of runes at the bottom of the page. "It's possible to move between them."

"Yes, indeed," agreed Dumbledore. "An idea that was also considered by Rowena Ravenclaw in her treatise on the nature of magical souls, written in 1033 but destroyed during Grindelwald's second raid on Hogwarts early this century. I was ever so delighted to find a copy intact here." He smiled fondly at one of the scrolls still floating just above the grass.

"So, what does all this mean for us?" Sirius asked.

"It means only what we can conjecture from all that we have read. No one has yet solved this mystery, and I doubt that we will be able to, either. Nevertheless, we can, at the very least, make some interesting predictions.

"The Sisyphean Keys do indeed allow migration between the various planes of the hereafter. Their powers are, however, limited. Imagine the magical afterlife not as a vague, undefined expanse, but as a line that stretches out in two directions from a single midpoint. In this way, although it is infinite, it has two halves that are strictly separated from each other. I surmise that this midpoint is a state of uncertainty, of perfect neutrality."

"You mean, that's where Sirius and I are?" asked Dearborn.

"Yes, it seems so. It is my belief that the veil truly is a gateway to the world of the dead. The reason it causes so much confusion for those who study it is that it leads to the very centre of this world, and this middle plane is the one from which there can be no movement in either direction. Only a natural death can place a soul into a dimension that is conclusively in one half or the other. It follows, then, that the Sisyphean Keys might lead a soul to this middle place, but no further."

"So Rosier wouldn't get into heaven after all!" Sirius said.

"Very good. I expect that he would find himself in precisely the same condition that you are in right now," said Dumbledore.

"But, Professor," James said, frowning, "we have it from Nicolas Flamel that everyone who has gone through the veil eventually got back through. If Rosier is put on the same plane as them, doesn't that mean he will come back to life?"

"I see no reason to think otherwise, even though we have no idea how they went back through the veil," Dumbledore replied. "But do not forget that all of these people died naturally soon after they returned to the world of the living."

"Good point," said James. "I suppose that doesn't leave much time to do more damage on earth. Of course, it doesn't leave much time for a second chance to get into heaven, either…"

"Sisyphean, indeed," muttered Dearborn.

Sirius watched Dumbledore shuffling through his many rolls of parchment. The others were silent, presumably letting all this new information sink in. He, however, was not yet satisfied; after a few minutes he said, "Professor, even if all this is true, I'm no closer to finding my way out of here. If anything, it seems even more impossible."

Dumbledore looked up.

"You are quite right," he said, and for the first time he sounded troubled. "Unless you are more able than I am to put together the pieces of this puzzle, their only real value is that they clear us to use the Sisyphean Keys as leverage. It seems that the dangers of doing so are not more significant than the good that might come of it; therefore, we can only hope that Lord Voldemort knows more about the matter than I do."

"And that Rosier will keep his word," said James.

"And that he doesn't get too violent," added Dearborn.

"And this is all assuming I manage to get the Key from my brother, in the first place," Sirius pointed out. "He didn't seem too keen, when I asked him."

"Regulus has Rosier's Key?" asked James, surprised. "And you've spoken with him here?"

"Yeah, last summer."

Dumbledore turned to face Sirius.

"It is a tall order," he said, "but you must do your best. The sooner you return to help Harry, the better; he too has a long and difficult journey ahead of him. Just… be careful, and remember that you are dealing with the enemy."

Sirius hesitated before asking the question that had been looming in the back of his mind for more than a year, a question that chilled him to the core whenever he thought of it.

"If Rosier were to—if I were to die, I mean…" He swallowed. "Do you know what would happen to me?"

Dumbledore looked more serious than ever.

"I do not know," said the Headmaster quietly. "None of the texts I have studied broach the topic. It is possible that an entirely new dimension awaits those whom death snatches from this one. It could be better, or it could be worse than here. It could be peaceful or perilous, familiar or very strange. I simply do not know."

Sirius felt rather ill; everyone was watching him, looking worried.

"I never was afraid to die," he mumbled, "but this is a hippogriff of a different colour, isn't it?"

Dumbledore chuckled and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "As I told your godson, death is just another adventure. Sirius, you are an outstanding wizard—and rumour has it you've become quite handy with Muggle weapons as well. You have proven your cleverness and courage time and time again. I have every confidence in you."

He stood to go. Sirius stood as well, his heart pounding as the weight of his task settled upon him. Dumbledore snatched his wand from the air and waved it; his books and scrolls vanished with a puff of green smoke.

"Good luck," he said, shaking Sirius's hand; the next moment, he was gone.

An uneasy silence followed Dumbledore's departure. Sirius couldn't seem to look any of his friends in the eye. At last he said, "Well… I suppose I'd better get ready."

Without a backwards glance, he set off down the hill alone.


	9. Chapter 09

Sirius sat alone in his bedroom at Dearborn's house, enjoying one last glass of rum. On his bed he had laid out a collection of knives and guns, his wand, and his favourite sword. He gazed at them fondly; they were going to help him get back through the veil.

Tick, tock. Soon it would be time to go.

A knock on the door, and then Lily's voice. "Sirius? Are you in there?"

"Come in."

Lily and James entered, closing the door quietly behind them.

"How are you feeling?" asked Lily.

"I don't know," he responded truthfully. "Excited, I suppose, and a bit nervous. Confused—I mean, I don't even know where I am right now. Eager. Relieved, since I've been waiting for this for more than a year. I feel ready, too; well prepared, I mean. Sad, because I have to leave you two again."

He looked down at the floor before mumbling, "Scared, mostly."

"Can't blame you for being a bit frightened," James said.

Sirius fiddled with one of his handguns for a while, lost in disturbing thoughts. At last he voiced the one that had been troubling him the most. "Do—do you think this is going to work?"

At once James replied, "If anyone can do it, it's you."

"You're a great wizard, Sirius," Lily said reassuringly.

"I know, but there's a lot on the line here. A lot of unknown."

"Well, of course there is. But that's when you're at your best!" James told him.

Sirius smiled weakly. "I can't thank you guys enough. And I can't even explain how much I'm going to miss you. It's been… just amazing, to have you around again."

"We'll miss you too, mate," said James. "But don't worry about us. We'll see you again, I'm sure of it."

Sirius nodded, afraid that tears would come if he spoke. Lily stepped forward and gave him a great hug.

"Good luck, Sirius," she whispered. "You'll do fine, I know you will. Tell Harry I love him very much…"

They broke apart and she exited into the hall, leaving the two men alone.

"I'm really proud to have you as my best friend," James said quietly. "You've been through hell—literally and figuratively—and you're still fighting."

"Can't hold a candle to you and Lily," Sirius said. "And Harry, of course."

"Will you make sure Harry knows how proud I am of him?"

"Of course. That'll mean a lot to him."

A minute of silence confirmed that there was nothing left to say. Sirius held out his hand to James, who ignored it and reached out to embrace him.

"Good luck, Padfoot," James said. He clapped Sirius on his back. "And give old Snivelly hell from me."

They grinned at each other one last time before James turned and left the room.

Alone once again, Sirius picked up a revolver, looked at it appraisingly, and slipped it into its holster.

Tick, tock.

"The Anaconda is a good choice, but you ought to take a semi-automatic as well," said a voice behind him.

Sirius turned; Dearborn was leaning against the doorframe. "Hey."

"Want to borrow my Glock?"

"Sure, if you don't mind."

"I expect you'll need it more than I will," said Dearborn, handing over the gun. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"You don't look fine."

Sirius looked away and said gruffly, "I guess I don't want to leave as much as I thought I did."

"Then we're not so different, after all."

Sirius grinned in spite of himself. "Don't ever say that again."

Dearborn laughed. "I know, that was a horrible thing to say. My apologies." His expression turned grim. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, and I guess this is my last opportunity."

Sirius gave him a sharp look, but before he could ask any questions Dearborn continued, "It's nothing to do with you, it's not even important. I just felt I should tell you that I—" he hesitated. "I wasn't thrown through the veil by Death Eaters."

"What, you mean you're actually dead?"

"No, I'm alive, I did go through the veil… but I wasn't forced through, like I've been telling everyone." He swallowed. "I walked through it intentionally."

"Are you mad?" gasped Sirius.

"Well, yes, I was at the time," Dearborn said. He looked very uncomfortable. "My life consisted of fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters. It was my job, and I did it in my free time too, with the Order… and yet I never felt that I had anything to fight for."

"Nothing to fight for?" repeated Sirius incredulously. "Fighting Voldemort is fighting for everything that's good in the world!"

"I knew it, but I couldn't share that feeling. Everyone else had their spouses and friends and children… I missed out on that, so I just… gave up."

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Sirius told him. "You may not believe me, but I'm glad you chose to use the veil and not something more… reliable. And I'm glad you didn't try again."

"I believe you," Dearborn said quickly. "I thought the veil would kill me. I was furious when I realised I was still alive. To be honest, I might have tried again if I hadn't been so terrified—I mean, who knows where I would have gone from here?" He laughed nervously. "In any case, I've learned to appreciate a quiet life here. Lily and James have been a big help, of course."

"Yes, I'm sure—"

"You might wonder why I'm telling you all this," Dearborn said broodingly. "Well, the thing about having someone to fight for, is that it means you have someone to live for. And having someone to live for is the same as having someone to die for.

"It's interesting, isn't it? It may or may not help you… it's something to think about, anyway." He clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "So, go on then. Tell Rosier I'll be waiting for him, should he want any trouble."

He was halfway out the door before Sirius called, "Wait."

Dearborn turned. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"No problem," he replied, nodding. He looked at Sirius shrewdly. "You're going to do fine. Good luck, Black."

Then he was gone.

Tick, tock… the time had come.

Ten minutes later Sirius strode off once again in the direction of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He was heavily armed, not only with knives, guns, and sword, but also with thoughts of Remus and Harry, of Lily and James and Dearborn. He felt as ready as ever he could be as he crept through the park towards his childhood home.

He was relieved to see that the front door had reappeared. He tapped it with his wand, whispered the incantation and stepped inside. Without hesitation he tiptoed up the stairs and down the hall, to where he knew his brother was fast asleep.

More quietly this time, he eased the door open. He moved so slowly that he had difficulty keeping his balance.

Tick, tock.

Without a word he lit his wand. He directed its narrow beam onto shelves and into open trunks, onto the ornate wooden desk and under the occupied bed; but he could see nothing at all that looked like a key.

A large chest of drawers was standing near a corner, blocking an open wardrobe from view. Cautiously, Sirius edged around it, squeezing between the pieces of furniture to get a better look.

"I don't know why you're bothering to skulk around like this. Even if you find it, you can't turn it."

Sirius whipped around to find his brother sitting up in bed. "How long have you been awake?" he asked.

"Since you came in here," said Regulus. "I suppose you forgot that I'm a light sleeper?"

"No, but I had to try," Sirius said, edging back out from behind the chest. "You've made it clear that you don't want to help me."

"Too right. You might as well clear out now."

"No. I can't leave here without it."

"Since when did you become Rosier's best mate?" asked Regulus angrily. "I can't believe you're so keen to help him, have you any idea what he's like?"

"You should know I don't give a damn about Rosier," Sirius shot back. "You're the one who worked with him!"

Regulus laughed softly and said, "Exactly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When Regulus didn't respond, Sirius continued, "Look. Rosier is just a pawn. We think he might know—" He stopped himself mid-sentence, been struck by an idea—an idea so obvious that he was ashamed not to have thought of it before. "Did Voldemort ever tell you anything about the afterlife? Specifically, how to leave it?"

Regulus laughed again, louder this time. "He never told me anything important. Not intentionally, anyway."

Sirius stared. "What do you mean, _not intentionally_?"

"Never wondered why I died?"

"Of course I've wondered!" Sirius lied.

"Well, you never bothered to find out. Kreacher could have told you everything. But no matter—" Regulus yawned and stretched— "nobody who would help Evan Rosier deserves to know."

"You know something, don't you, you little bastard?" demanded Sirius. "You know something that would help me!"

"I have nothing to say to a friend of Rosier's."

"You idiot!" shouted Sirius, finally losing his temper. "Haven't I told you, I don't give a flying fuck about Rosier! He told me he knows how I can get back through the veil, is all. And it's not even for my sake, Harry needs me—my godson, that is, Harry Potter, have you heard of him?"

"He is after my time," Regulus said quietly. "I have done everything I can to fight the Dark Lord."

"No, no you haven't! Not if you can just help me… _please_." Sirius dropped to his knees by the side of the bed so that his face was level with his brother's. "Please… I know we didn't get along, but you've got to understand what's at stake, what Harry is facing. Voldemort wants to kill him, and he will unless Harry can kill him first… but Regulus, he has _Horcruxes_! Several of them! I've got to get back to help Harry. It's too dangerous, too difficult—"

"Horcruxes?" repeated Regulus. For the first time, he seemed to have lost his composure; he was staring at Sirius with an unnerving intensity.

"Pieces of soul that were separated off by murder—"

"I know what a bloody Horcrux is!" Regulus snapped.

"Helped him make them, did you?"

"Don't be absurd. The Dark Lord would never tell a Death Eater about his Horcruxes."

"Why not? I'd think he'd like them guarded."

"Because a Death Eater might steal the Horcrux, destroy it, and put a false one in its place." He paused for a moment, during which he fidgeted with his quilt. "Theoretically, I mean. The Dark Lord doesn't trust anyone—not even Bellatrix, who would never dream of betraying him in such a way. And so, nobody knows about them."

Sirius frowned. "Except you, apparently."

"Never wondered why I died?" Regulus repeated.

Sirius's jaw dropped. "No—I don't believe you."

Regulus ignored him and continued, "I found out about them quite by accident. But that's not what's important."

"It is important," said Sirius at once. He got off his knees to sit on the end of the bed. "Tell me everything you know."

"Fine," said Regulus, annoyed. "And when I'm done, you'll understand why I can't give you Rosier's Key.

"It all happened very quickly. Within one week I went from loyal Death Eater to dead traitor. It started with Rosier. I was to assist him with a routine Muggle killing. Rosier told me to torture them first, probably because he knew I didn't want to, and he wanted to see me struggle. I told him to go fuck himself, because he was only a few years older than I was anyway. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased. But technically he had no authority over me, so he went to the one who did."

"Voldemort?"

"Yes. The bastard told the Dark Lord that I had been uncooperative and acting suspiciously. Keep in mind that the Dark Lord absorbs suspicions like a sponge. He distrusts everyone to begin with, but the slightest hint of disobedience sends him into a fit of raging paranoia.

"He summoned me into his chamber. He kept me there for hours, alternating bouts of the Cruciatus Curse and ruthless Legilimency. He even had Snape give me Veritaserum—a bloody big waste of potion, seeing as I had nothing whatsoever to hide. And yet he searched and searched for proof of my treachery, where there was only the innocent nervousness typical of young Death Eaters.

"By the time the Dark Lord released me, I was weak beyond words. Physically and mentally. I collapsed onto my bed and didn't move for nearly a day. During this time—I don't know how it happened, really—my thoughts weren't entirely my own. Perhaps he overdid the Legilimency a bit. He went about his business as usual, and meanwhile, I saw most everything he thought about."

"Which was?"

"Well, besides a fair bit more of Bellatrix than I cared to see, mostly objects and places I'd never seen before, and a hell of a lot of magic. I only had to put the pieces together to figure out that the Dark Lord was dwelling on a number of Horcruxes."

Sirius couldn't help comparing his brother's story to Harry's, in which he had witnessed Voldemort's obsession with the Prophecy. Clearly, Voldemort's thoughts were a mine of dangerous information.

"But you weren't particularly special—plenty of Death Eaters must have been questioned the way you were," Sirius pointed out. "How do you know none of the others found out about the Horcruxes in the same way?"

"I'll tell you why," Regulus said. "Because the Dark Lord would silence anyone who knows about them. He'd do anything to keep his Horcruxes secret and safe. Those visions were my death sentence because it is not possible to contain that knowledge and survive in the Dark Lord's presence.

"It was immediately clear that my death was a cert, and it would come soon. It's funny—I can't have been frightened for more than a few minutes. Since there was simply nothing I could do about it, I decided to get my revenge in advance. I set out to find those Horcruxes and dispose of them."

"That was ambitious of you," said Sirius, in all earnestness.

Regulus shrugged and said, "Better to burn out than to fade away."

"So, did you find any?"

"I did. Well, first I ran home and got Kreacher to come along with me. It's lucky I did; I couldn't have done it myself. But with his help I found the locket—Slytherin's locket, you know—and swapped it for a cheap fake one I'd bought beforehand."

"And did you destroy it?"

Regulus's face darkened. "Kreacher was very ill, so I brought him—and the locket— home at once. Rosier was waiting for me there. I hadn't told Mum and Dad that anything was wrong with me and the Death Eaters, so they let him in like they always had done. I knew the moment I saw him that I was a goner—he was just sitting in the drawing room, feet up on the table, with the sort of mad grin that can make you sick.

"I didn't come quietly, though, that's for damn sure. At first I tried talking to him, asked him to just let me be. Well, he didn't much like that idea. Hexed me before I'd finished talking. While we were duelling I managed to drop the locket and kick it under the cabinet so he wouldn't notice—and that's the last I saw of it."

"Fine, but you—what happened to you?" asked Sirius.

"I lost the duel. Rosier cornered me without a wand, said he was going to bring me back to the Dark Lord. I asked him to do me a favour and just kill me himself, but he refused. And so, I was forced to turn to my last resort. Anticipating precisely this scenario, I'd bought a vial of fast poison in Knockturn Alley. While I argued with Rosier I found it in my pocket, uncorked it and drank it as fast as I could."

"Well, it could have been worse, right? Better than getting thrown back to Voldemort."

Regulus shook his head. "Not so fast—Rosier's no fool. He hit me straight away with a nasty Vomiting Hex. By the time I was done, I felt lucky to have any bones left, much less enough potion even to put me to sleep."

Sirius grimaced. "So, a mercy killing was out of the cards?"

"I met Bellatrix in the hallway just before I went in to the Dark Lord. For a few seconds, I think, I entertained the thought that maybe she would do it for me."

Sirius and Regulus both roared with laughter at this.

"Out of the cards, then," said Sirius.

"What can I say? Strange ideas come to desperate minds," Regulus said.

Sirius sobered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laughing, it's really not funny at all."

Regulus shrugged again. "No need to apologise." He was quiet for a few moments, and when he resumed his story, it was in a very subdued voice, indeed. "After ten minutes I was praying for that flash of green light to bring the end, but it never came. At some point I must have been in the state the Longbottoms are in now—I watched it happen to them, it really was horrible—but the Dark Lord didn't stop there. The curse never lifted, until finally I just died."

"Why, though?" said Sirius, horrified. "Why so brutal? I thought he normally just uses the killing curse."

"He does. But I think he must have sensed what I was feeling—genuine animosity towards him, not just the fear that other runaways had. He must have seen me as a threat, somehow."

"As he should have!" exclaimed Sirius. He was struggling with some foreign emotion as he listened to Regulus's story; it was several minutes before he realised that, for the first time in his life, he was feeling proud of a family member. "What became of the other Horcruxes?"

"Nothing, I'm sure. They're probably still out there. I stopped paying attention to the whole situation shortly after the Dark Lord fell. Like I said, I did my part, and I'm content with it."

Regulus looked so peaceful that Sirius was reluctant to say anything at all, much less make such an unsettling request; but the ghostly ticking of the clock in the back of his mind finally drove him to say, "Listen, Regulus… What you did with your last days was really extraordinary. And you're absolutely right—you did your part, and you deserve to rest.

"But I've got to ask you, because you've got to understand… Harry is searching for the Horcruxes for the same reason you did—because Voldemort ruins lives. He's in a terrible amount of danger and he's facing it willingly, just like you did. But if he dies in the attempt, it's all over. He needs me—"

"I can't," Regulus cut across him, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. But you're right—the Dark Lord ruins lives. He ruined mine; I'm not going to let him ruin my death, too."

"But—wait!" Suddenly Sirius remembered the research Dumbledore had done; now he saw that the secret of the Sisyphean Keys was a key in itself.

He explained to Regulus how Rosier wouldn't _really _get into heaven; how it was only temporary, in any case; and how Rosier was probably doomed to return to hell after a short while. He was heartened to see that Regulus was listening intently, apparently giving the idea his consideration…

"I don't know, Sirius," he said at last. "It sounds too uncertain…"

"Dearborn," Sirius replied quickly. "Do you know him? He's a friend of mine, used to be in the Order of the Phoenix, you know. He's sworn to not to let Rosier rest, and believe me, he's not someone you'd want to cross. He won't let Rosier give you any trouble."

Regulus looked up. "Really?" he asked. "You really think he can make Rosier miserable?"

"I know he can. I've seen him do it," Sirius said. "Come on, Regulus, _please_… if I can get out of here, I can help Harry finish what you started."

He and his brother looked at each other; Sirius injected all the sincerity he had into his gaze…

At last, Regulus nodded. "All right. I'll do it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw something appear on the desk. It was a small, metallic-looking cube, on which were etched more runes like the ones Dumbledore had been reading earlier that night. A keyhole gaped in one of its sides; inches from it lay a matching silver key.

Sirius reached for it, but Regulus called out, "No. Don't touch it. I'll do it in a moment."

Sirius looked back and saw that his brother was scribbling on a piece of parchment on his bedside table. "What are you writing?"

"Everything I can remember about the visions I had of the other Horcruxes." He finished writing, straightened up and handed the folded paper to Sirius. "Take this with you; I hope it helps. And if you see the Dark Lord, give him my regards."

"I will," said Sirius, pocketing it. He hesitated for a moment before saying, "Look, Reg… I'm really proud of you. I'm sorry I was such a prick sometimes—"

"Most of the time, you mean," said Regulus, but he was smiling. "And I'm sorry I was an obnoxious little brat most of the time—"

"All the time, you mean," Sirius said, and they both laughed.

"I guess we have more in common than we thought," Regulus said. "We both took our shots at the world, and the world hit back a lot harder, didn't it?"

"That's putting it lightly."

"But you're lucky enough to get another shot…"

"And I'm going to take it," Sirius said fervently. "I'll take another one for you, as well." He could sense that the time for action would soon be upon him; the pounding of his heart had replaced the anxious sound of the clock.

Regulus's face was set as he picked up the metal box. Without hesitation he fit the key in the lock and turned it. When nothing happened, he set it down and said, "Well, I guess that's that."

"Regulus—thanks."

Sirius held out his hand and Regulus shook it.

"No problem," said Regulus, as Sirius turned to go. "Good luck… and give them hell."

**A/N: **Whew, finished this chapter with six and a half hours to spare. I really wanted this one posted because I'm hoping something similar happens in Deathly Hallows. Speaking of which, I'll be taking a few days off to read it, so I probably won't update until late next week or so.

I have the last few chapters of _True Grey _outlined; if I can easily make them DH-compatible I will, but if not I will finish them as planned and just label it an AU.

**P.S. **Still looking for someone to beta this fic before I submit it to Fiction Alley. Please e-mail if interested. Happy reading, everyone!


	10. Chapter 10

Sirius hurried down the silent and abandoned streets, his steps coming even faster than his heartbeats. He hadn't slept in a day, but he had never felt less tired. He wound his way between houses and climbed over fences, taking shortcuts as confidently as though he was smelling his way towards his goal; it hardly mattered to him that he had only been there once before.

Sure enough, he rounded a corner and was immediately assaulted by a stench like old rubbish left out to bake in the sun.

"Disgusting," Sirius muttered, and pressed on.

After a few minutes of searching he found the tiny house in which he had woken more than a year ago. He took a deep breath and rapped hard on the door. While he waited for someone to answer, he glanced around nervously and rested his fingers on one of the holsters on his belt.

At last the door creaked open. The long barrel of a shotgun emerged from the crack, followed by the thin face of Wilkes. Judging from the fresh-looking gash that ran from his eye to his ear, he must have crossed Rosier again not long ago.

Wilkes's eyes widened at the sight of Sirius on his doorstep.

"I need to speak to Rosier," Sirius said, tightening his hold on the handle of his revolver.

Wilkes lowered the shotgun. He reached out with a grimy hand and pulled Sirius inside. He whispered excitedly, "You found our Keys?"

Sirius ignored this. "Where's Rosier?"

"Sleeping," said Wilkes quickly. He pushed Sirius down into a straight-backed wooden chair in the tiny kitchen. "So keep your voice down, he'll be furious if we wake him."

Sirius doubted this, but thought it best not to argue, quite keen for the encounter to be as peaceful as possible.

"You found our Keys?" Wilkes repeated.

"I've kept my end of the bargain," Sirius said evasively. "Now it's time for you lot to do the same."

"What did he say we'd give you in return?"

"A ticket home. He said he could tell me how to get back through the veil. But I'm not that fussed if he's asleep—_you _can tell me, instead."

Wilkes snorted. "I don't know what you're playing at, Black. There's no way out of here. Believe me, if there were one, I'd have found it by now."

"Rosier said there is a way!"

"Sorry, Black, it can't be done."

"Maybe Rosier just knows more than you do?"

Wilkes considered this for a moment, and then replied, "I suppose it's possible. After all, his dad was one of the Dark Lord's first followers. I heard they were friends at Hogwarts, even. Maybe the Dark Lord taught him a secret or two—but I doubt it. Evan fancies himself more important than he really was."

Sirius said nothing. A sick feeling was starting to twist his stomach.

"What a pity," Wilkes said softly, but he did not look sorry at all. "Perhaps I can offer you something else in return for your services? A sandwich? A drink?"

He seized something from the countertop and held it out to Sirius. It was a glass of what looked like fermented pumpkin juice.

Sirius swore loudly, but his voice was overpowered by the sound of a gunshot. On impulse he dropped to the floor; but it was Wilkes who cried out in pain and clutched his leg, from which blood was streaming down to stain the already filthy carpet.

Sirius looked up, trembling against his will. Smoke dissipated from the mouth of a gun to reveal Rosier's face grinning at him from the doorway into the bathroom.

"Surprise," he said, and his smirk grew even wider. He stepped over Wilkes, who was moaning and cursing him as he writhed on the floor, and dropped into a seat opposite Sirius. "Well, if it isn't Sirius Black! I was beginning to think you'd forgot about us! My, you look… _older_."

Sirius climbed back onto his own chair, heart still thumping wildly.

"So, Wilkes thinks I fancy myself more important than I really am," said Rosier conversationally. "I wonder, Black, whether you feel the same way?"

Before Sirius could answer, however, a faint noise from the hall made him start. In an instant both he and Rosier had guns trained on the source of the sound: Wyman, who had come to investigate the commotion.

"Ah. Good," said Rosier, lowering his weapon. "Wyman—make yourself useful and get this pathetic piece of shit out of my sight." He indicated Wilkes with a kick to the back of the head. "And stay away from here—I have business with Mr Black tonight."

Wyman hesitated only long enough to glare daggers at Rosier, before obeying him.

Rosier turned back to Sirius. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Has your angelic brother turned the Key?"

Sirius hesitated, suddenly gripped by a powerful premonition. Now that he was in Rosier's presence, a deep sense of unease had settled in him; he found himself unwilling to part with this piece of information, his only bit of leverage and his only hope for success.

"No," he lied, "not yet."

Rosier's face darkened. "I see."

Sirius continued coldly, "Regulus warned me about you. Said I ought to get what I need from you, before giving you what you want."

Rosier laughed uproariously, and the nervous churning in Sirius's stomach gave way to a pulse of hatred that seemed to travel from his toes to the tips of his fingers.

"Said that, did he?" Rosier said, still snickering. "Warned you, did he? What a good boy. He always was… too _good_ for his own good, in fact."

"Shut up," said Sirius, who was surprised to find his fists clenched around the edges of his seat.

Rosier raised an eyebrow. "What an unexpected conversion! To think, that you would ever come to his defence! Good, young, Regulus, who loved nothing more than to abuse his traitorous elder brother at length to anyone who would listen—"

"How dare you talk about him like that!" Sirius growled, leaning forward in his chair. "He may have died young but he was more of a man than you ever were! Did you even watch Voldemort kill him?"

"Did I watch the Dark Lord kill him?" repeated Rosier, his mouth spreading in a malevolent smile. "Of course not—I _helped _the Dark Lord kill him."

Sirius dove across the table and hit Rosier hard across the jaw; Rosier struck back, sending him crashing to the floor. Sirius swung his leg around, toppling both Rosier and his chair. As he fell through the air, Rosier grabbed hold of Sirius's hair and yanked down; Sirius shouted and retaliated with an elbow to Rosier's eye. The blow sent the Death Eater flying backwards, and he hit his head on the corner of the counter with a resounding _crack_.

Sirius crawled over to the dazed Rosier. Like Sirius, he had several guns in holsters dangling from his belt; Sirius groped for each one, and threw them across the room and out of harm's way. He withdrew a small switchknife from his own pocket and pressed it to Rosier's throat.

"Get out of it, Black," Rosier said as he came to. He was frowning, looking shrewdly at Sirius. "You won't kill me, not till you've got what you came for."

"Or, not till it's clear that youhaven't even got what I came for," Sirius corrected him. "So I'd hurry up and tell me, if I were you."

"There is no hurry. Of course, I cannot die… right, Black?"

"Right," Sirius lied. "But that doesn't mean that a slit throat won't lay you up for a very long time. Just tell me how to get back through the veil, and I'll get Regulus to turn your bloody Key."

"Very well. Let's walk—I don't want those two twits listening in."

Sirius felt entirely in control of the situation as he guided Rosier out of his own house and into the street, lit only by a few flickering streetlamps. A cold wind blew from behind, tossing his hair into his face; in front of him, Rosier ambled slowly and aimlessly, arms crossed against the chill of the autumn air.

Emboldened by the knife still clenched in his fist and by the reassuring weight of many weapons under his robes, Sirius called ahead to Rosier, "The sooner you speak, the sooner you can leave this place!"

Rosier said nothing, but continued to wander away from the house until it was entirely out of sight.

Sirius followed him. "I said, speak!"

"You want me to speak?" said Rosier dangerously. He turned slowly to face Sirius. "I shall speak… once _you _tell me what's going on."

"What's going on?" repeated Sirius. "I think it's quite obvious—I'm waiting for you to tell me how to get back through the veil."

"Ah," sneered Rosier, "and am I supposed to believe the Brothers Black will be true to their word?"

"Of course. You've no reason to mistrust us."

"Hmm." Rosier breathed on his hands to warm them, and then thrust them into his pockets. He appeared to be deep in thought, and when he finally continued, it was as if every word was weighed and delicately placed in order. "You come from quite a noble family, Sirius Black."

"What about it?" said Sirius, perplexed.

"The Family Rosier, though not quite as ancient, is just as honourable. Perhaps even more so; it lacks the three great blemishes that have so tragically marred the name of Black in recent years: Sirius, the treacherous; Regulus, the cowardly; and your cousin, the blood traitor—what was her name?"

"Andromeda," said Sirius through clenched teeth.

"Yes, indeed, Andromeda _Tonks_. How lovely."

"What's your bloody point?" Sirius snarled.

"My _bloody_ point, Black, is that very few can boast of purer blood than I."

He took another step towards Sirius, who eyed him warily, determined to betray neither his lie nor the fear that was rising slowly from the pit of his stomach. Rosier's behaviour was unfathomable; something seemed very wrong, indeed…

Rosier leaned in close, so that their faces were mere inches apart.

"Do you really think I didn't notice, the _instant _your pathetic brother turned the Key, when magic returned to my veins at last?" he hissed. "Do you really think I noticed nothing, after years of shameful existence like a filthy Squib, when the power of generations of ancestors was restored to my blood?"

"He turned it?" said Sirius quickly, to hide his disappointment at the news that his only piece of leverage was now worthless. "That's great! He must have done it without telling me. Well, now you don't have to worry about us going back on our word—"

"_Liar_," Rosier breathed. "You and that yellow-bellied rat you call a brother are up to something, I know you are!"

"What are you on about?" Sirius asked, though he thought he knew what was troubling him; but he could not, _would _not, tell Rosier the truth about the Sisyphean Keys.

Rosier muttered, "My blood is pure once again, it's true, but something else is amiss. Why, if the Key has been turned, were you able to hit and injure me? No resident of heaven has to feel pain, nor put up with any annoyance—you, for example—that he does not wish to suffer. _Why_, then, are you still here?"

Sirius replied with the first idea that came to mind. "Perhaps you've got to be within the boundaries of heaven, to get all the benefits."

"Perhaps," said Rosier, his stare colder than any Sirius had ever seen. "Or perhaps my Key has not been turned at all, but you and your snivelling brother aim to trick me!"

Sirius could tell from the fury in his voice what Rosier was about to do, and he scrambled to prevent it; but as he was still clutching his knife, he could not draw his wand before Rosier had Summoned it from his pocket. Sirius responded by drawing the Glock that Dearborn had lent him, and pointing it at Rosier's chest.

"Tell me how to get back through the veil," he said, both voice and hand shaking.

Rosier grinned; the sight of it made Sirius feel slightly ill.

"We had a deal! You promised to help me get back through the veil!"

Rosier snapped Sirius's wand cleanly in half and whispered, with relish, "_I lied_."

Without hesitation Sirius fired at Rosier's stomach, but the bullets bounced off the Death Eater's Shield Charm, as harmless as pebbles. Rosier roared with laughter.

"Magic beats Muggles every time, Black!"

He turned round and ran down the long alleyway. Sirius thundered after him, blood pounding in his ears; he fired again and again but Rosier, looking over his shoulder, easily deflected every bullet that flew towards his back.

"You might as well give up now, Black!" he called. "I don't know how you can get back through that bloody veil—I _never _knew!"

"We had a deal, you conniving bastard!" roared Sirius.

Rosier laughed again and crowed, "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater—even in death!"

He turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Sirius sprinted after him; but the first thing he saw when he turned his head was not his quarry's retreating back, but a jet of red light soaring from behind a large rubbish bin, where Rosier was crouching and sneering at him.

The shocking truth hit him before the Stunning Spell did…

_I've been outwitted and out-duelled by a Death Eater, again. _

_I've set Rosier loose in heaven, made Regulus forgive him, for no reason._

_My only hope was never a hope at all._

_I will never get back through the veil. _

_I've let Remus and Harry down—_

He was spared from his torturous thoughts when the spell coursed through him at last. He heard his gun fall to the pavement with a clatter, saw Rosier walking away to freedom, before silent darkness enveloped him.

**A/N: **Eh, Sirius didn't figure in Deathly Hallows the way I hoped he would. Anyway, I've decided to stick with my original plotline, so this story is now officially AU. Thanks for reading, everyone, the next chapter should be up soon!


	11. Chapter 11

When Sirius came to, all he could see was white.

Or, rather, off-white.

A dirty, foul smelling off-white that turned out, upon closer inspection, to be the bottom of the same filthy bathtub in which he had awoken after he first emerged from the veil. That had been a very long time ago, and evidently the Death Eaters had allowed the resident community of moulds to flourish ever since.

As quietly as he could, Sirius pushed himself up from the grimy porcelain to stand in front of the mirror. Still groggy from being Stunned, he swayed a bit as he observed his reflection. On the whole, he looked much healthier than he had been the last time he had woken in this bathroom; but this was small comfort, as he realised suddenly that he had been almost entirely disarmed. The only weapon left on his person was a small knife that he had concealed in his shoe.

Sirius stood for quite a while, turning the knife over absentmindedly in his hands, deep in thought about his predicament. He was certain of one thing: he needed to return to James and Lily, Dearborn and Dumbledore. He needed to regroup, to think of a new plan. He was sure that Rosier was long gone by now, enjoying the relative comfort of his new state of living death; if Rosier was lucky, they would never cross paths again. He could hear low voices coming from down the hall; Wyman and Wilkes were probably debating what to do with him.

He weighed his options. He could try to overpower the Death Eaters and escape back into heaven; but although he was well trained, he didn't like his chances against two much more heavily armed, immortal Death Eaters. Could he talk them into letting him go? Would they be hostile, or sympathetic? After all, Rosier had abandoned them, as well.

Taking a deep breath, Sirius pocketed the knife and opened the bathroom door. The voices stopped. He walked down the narrow hallway, feeling much calmer than he had expected; perhaps he realised that his situation could hardly get much worse.

He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and his eyes swept the scene—Wyman sitting at the small table, across from Wilkes, whose leg was heavily bandaged; his guns and larger knives, laid out neatly on the counter; his sword, propped up against a battered bookshelf.

As he nodded at Wilkes and Wyman in turn, Rosier's parting words rang through his mind. _Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater—even in death._ But what choice did he have?

"Morning," said Sirius.

"Morning," replied Wyman. "Coffee?"

"No thanks," Sirius answered. He would, in fact, have loved a cup; but he didn't think he could stomach the brew from hell.

Wilkes pulled out a chair, and gestured to Sirius to take a seat. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Not bad, considering," said Sirius. "I suppose you're the ones who found me?"

Wyman nodded. "Well, Byron was still laid up, but I went out looking for you and Rosier. Knew there was something suspicious going on, when you didn't come back. I found you a couple streets over—out cold, you know. Dragged you back here, waited for the spell to wear out. Couldn't lift it myself—haven't got a wand, you see."

"Rosier has, though," Sirius told him. "He's got mine, too—rather, he broke mine."

"Sorry to hear it. At least you've still got magic in you; God, I miss that feeling. So, Rosier scarpered, did he?"

Sirius nodded.

"I hate to say it, but I'm not surprised," Wilkes said. "Like I told you, he thinks too highly of himself. No one else matters to him, no one at all. So he lied to get what he wanted from you, and then didn't think twice about reneging. The real question is, why didn't he kill you?"

"Maybe it just didn't occur to him," said Sirius with a shrug. In fact, he was sure that Rosier had suspected he was hiding something—the true nature of the Sisyphean Keys, which would explain why he hadn't become an entirely heavenly being. But Sirius had already decided not to share this secret with the others.

"Maybe." Wyman leaned forward and continued in a half-whisper, "Or maybe, there's something else he wants from you."

"Like what?" asked Wilkes. "His Key has been turned, apparently. What more could he want?"

Wyman gave him a significant look. "Maybe Rosier didn't want to ditch us entirely. You know, by killing the one who could help us…"

Wilkes snorted and said, "Since when has Evan Rosier ever given a damn about either of us? I suppose you think he was feeling sorry about shooting me for the thousandth time?"

"Good point. But still…" Wyman looked shrewdly at Sirius. "The fact is, you _are _alive, and you _can _help us."

Sirius held up his hands and said, "No, no, no. Look, Regulus was my brother—asking him for a favour was one thing; asking the Prewetts, or Ben Fenwick, is quite another."

"What a shame." The pleasant smile that lingered on Wyman's face did not match the coldness of his voice. "I was so sure that you'd be willing to help us, like you helped dear Rosier."

"I thought the same," said Wilkes; he, too, was now gazing cannily at Sirius. "Perhaps you'd like to reconsider."

"No, not really—"

"Perhaps you'd like to reconsider," repeated Wilkes, and he calmly drew a handgun from beneath his robes and aimed it at Sirius's head.

Sirius closed a sweaty hand over the knife in his pocket, but he knew it could hardly help him now. "Look, it took me more than a year to get Regulus to turn that Key, can you imagine how long it would take me to get the others to turn yours?"

"Oh, we don't mind waiting," said Wyman. "We've got all the time in the world."

"Well, I haven't."

"That's not our problem, is it? This is the deal: if you get our Keys, we won't kill you. You can take it or leave it."

Sirius looked from one Death Eater to the other, and a wonderful realisation hit him—he could escape into heaven under the pretence of searching for two more Sisyphean Keys. He could return to James and the others for help, devise a new plan that had nothing to do with Death Eaters, and Wilkes and Wyman would be none the wiser.

He stood up and said, "I'll take it."

The Death Eaters grinned at each other.

"But first I want my weapons back."

"Of course," said Wyman, and he started handing them down from the counter—revolver, pistol, long dagger, short dagger…

"My sword," Sirius said.

Wilkes reached behind him and lifted the sword by its hilt. "I trust you, Black," he said, handing it over to its owner. "If you were a Slytherin I'd be more worried, but I know you Gryffindors were always the decent ones."

"Bloody do-gooders, you mean," added Wyman. "But still… we're letting you walk free, so you owe us a favour. I know we'll see you again."

He patted Sirius on the back as he showed him to the door. Wilkes limped over to see him off, as well. He was barely over the threshold before Wyman called him back.

"Let's shake on it," he said. "So I can be a bit easier in my mind, you know? God, I miss the days when I could count on binding magical contracts. Nothing like an Unbreakable Vow to keep a bloke honest…"

Sirius hesitated for a moment, trying to remember whether Rosier had shaken his hand when he agreed to help him. Even if he hadn't, what did it matter? What was a handshake worth in such a situation, anyway?

He reached out and grasped Wyman's hand. Maybe lying was wrong, but he was doing it to save his own life—and many others, if he managed to get back through the veil.

"Godspeed!" called Wilkes, as Sirius turned and strode down the dingy lane.

He broke into a run as soon as the house was out of sight. Elated and eager to see his friends once again, he sped up when he reached the long, dark alley that marked the boundary between hell and heaven. He rounded the corner and took in the welcome sight of neat, spacious homes, well-groomed lawns, trees and clean streets….

Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, panting a bit. A creepy, foreboding sensation slowly stole over him; the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. Something was very wrong here. He looked wildly around, expecting to see Rosier waiting for him, perhaps right behind him, with a loaded gun.

But the sight that greeted his eyes was worse, far worse, than he could have imagined. All around him, front doors and garden gates were swinging open; the houses' residents were swarming into the road, clamouring angrily as they stormed in his direction…

"SIRIUS!"

He turned at the sound of his name to see James fighting his way through the crowd, trying to get to him. Right beside him was Lily, apparently trying to usher Dearborn to safety.

"Turn back, Sirius!" Lily shouted, as she shoved away a fierce-looking man who was advancing on Dearborn. "You're not safe here anymore, they've had it with the living ever since Rosier came!"

"No—no, I've got nowhere to go!" Sirius yelled after her. "Send Dearborn over here to help me, at least—"

"Padfoot, over here! Come on, make a run for it—"

"_No, James_!" screamed Lily. "Are you an idiot, do you want him to _die_? He'll never—"

James cut across his wife, "Just do it, Padfoot!"

Sirius made up his mind at once. He drew his sword and plunged into the advancing horde. He slashed his way through the crowd, knowing that he couldn't harm them, but that he might be able to keep them at bay long enough to reach the safety of James and his house. A confusion of noise burst in his ears—James's cheers, Lily's shouted admonishments, the steady roar of hundreds trying and failing to do him in…

"Look out!" yelled James.

A flash of red, and a grunt of frustration behind him; Lily, who was closest to Sirius, had dived to stop a small woman swinging a garden spade at his head.

"Lily, thanks!" Sirius said, wielding his sword and pressing on.

"_Get back!_" hissed Lily, shielding him from another blow. "I can't believe you listened to James… Back where you came from, quickly now—"

But Sirius had stopped listening; he had even stopped moving. A few yards ahead of him stood Dearborn, left alone when Lily had come to Sirius's rescue. He was revolving on the spot, brandishing a knife in each hand to stave off his attackers. For a while, he was left alone; but at last a stoic young man forged ahead, and Dearborn struck out in desperation.

Sirius watched in horror as the man did not flinch, but removed the dagger from his bloodless arm and plunged it into Dearborn's heart as easily as he might have swatted and squashed a bothersome fly.

The mob stepped over and around Dearborn as he sank to the ground, blood darkening his shirt and robes. Sirius roared with fury and struggled towards him, but Lily was dragging him backwards; the entire multitude was now focused on him alone. James had jumped forward to hold the crowd back, giving him time and space to escape.

"Run, Padfoot!"

Finally forced to admit defeat, he backed out of the throng and fled. He did not pause to say goodbye to Lily and James, or even to look at them. The crowd's angry jeers followed him as he ran, summoning all the strength and speed he possessed, towards the stench and shelter of hell.


	12. Chapter 12

Sirius stopped running only when he could no longer hear the shouted taunts of the murderous throng in heaven. He paused at last in a dark, unfamiliar street. Panting, he leaned against the brick wall of a random house; it was refreshingly cold against his sweaty back, but he took no comfort in it.

He barely registered the irony of his situation—that he sought safety and rest in the deepest parts of hell, and that heaven was now a place to be feared. He was, however, much more acutely aware of each breath that rose in a swift cloud through the chilly November air—breaths that must be so conspicuously absent from Caradoc Dearborn's own mouth.

Sirius slumped to the ground, sat among sparse weeds and odd bits of rubbish strewn through the dirt. This was not the first time he had felt so intensely grateful to be alive—after he escaped Azkaban, to see Remus again and to meet his godson had seemed nothing short of a miracle. But now, he had all the same feelings of faint good fortune, but with none of the accompanying joy—Dearborn, an old schoolmate and a new friend, was dead. He might even be worse than dead, stuck in some unknown realm. Or was he simply wiped from existence, never to be spoken to or heard from again even in an afterlife?

The prospect was terrifying, and he knew that it just as easily could have been he, Sirius, who was killed in the melee. Perhaps it _ought_ to have been he; Dearborn had been the better fighter, Dearborn hadn't deserved to die, Dearborn had never asked to be so involved in Sirius's quest. And surely, if Sirius hadn't been so reckless, if Lily hadn't had to come to his own aid, she could have continued to protect Dearborn from her neighbours.

He felt transported back in time, sixteen years ago to the day, when he had chased down Peter Pettigrew, maddened by guilt and grief…

Sirius sprang back to his feet; the memory had goaded him to action, had set a sort of restless anger coursing through him. It was too much to hope that James and Lily could find and help him here. No, he knew he must complete his journey alone. He knew he must orchestrate another escape from scratch, must trust to his own strength and cleverness as he had done once before. So what if he must do so from the bowels of hell? He had done it once from the very heart of Azkaban…

Separated from his friends, he decided to seek out his enemies. Brushing off his robes, he set off for the Death Eaters' house, now more familiar to him than he would have liked.

He found Wilkes back in his seat at the kitchen table, looking supremely bored as he watched Wyman scrub fruitlessly at a patch of mildew on the counter. Both of them looked up, shocked, when Sirius knocked and entered.

"Back so soon?" asked Wilkes. "Well done!"

"Don't be an idiot, he can't possibly have done it in just a few hours," said Wyman.

"Well, then what are you doing here?" Wilkes demanded.

Sirius hesitated. "We've got to think of some other plan. I couldn't get to the Prewetts' place, nor to Fenwick's—a full-scale riot broke out in heaven as soon as I arrived. Rosier must have caused some real trouble there, they're not too pleased that I freed him," he added, glancing at their mutinous faces and deeming it wise to place as much blame as possible on Rosier.

"And what do you suggest we do?" said Wyman icily.

"I don't know," Sirius replied, irritated. "Wait a week or so for their tempers to cool down, I suppose. And in the meantime, you two can start racking your brains for a way to help _me_, once I've done you this favour."

"We paid you in advance when we let you walk free this morning," Wilkes said, an ugly look on his face.

"I reckon that's about worth the effort I made to get into heaven, plus Caradoc Dearborn's life. I'd say we're quits."

At this, the Death Eaters' blank stares gave way to raised eyebrows; they failed miserably to hide their liking of this news. Anger flared up in Sirius as he watched them exchange an excited glance.

"I'm going to have a look around Rosier's room," he said coldly, and turned his back on them.

"Second door on the left," Wilkes called after him. Sirius imagined the grins plastered on their faces now that he wasn't watching them.

Rosier's bedroom was, like every other room in the dilapidated house, tiny and filthy. A bare mattress lay on the floor in a corner, a moth-eaten blanket piled at its foot. A few rays of dim light managed to pass through a small, grimy double-hung window. A crude, hand-painted copy of the Rosier family crest adorned one grubby wall; Sirius couldn't resist taking out a knife and scratching at it, marring it with long, thin stripes of white.

While he chipped away at the paint, he looked around—for what, he did not know. As the room was hardly larger than the average Azkaban cell, he doubted that it held any secrets that might help him to his goal. There were no books, no rolls of parchment, no symbols nor written words of any kind…

Sirius froze, looking up at the coat of arms he had been defacing. Could there be a clue hidden within it? Some secret knowledge, perhaps, passed down through generations of Rosiers? He thought it much more likely that Evan Rosier had been baldly lying when he had said he knew how to get back through the veil; nevertheless, he studied what remained of the crest, praying for an unexpected revelation.

But he was soon distracted; in the relative quiet that had ensued when Sirius stopped hammering on the wall with his knife, he detected a pair of low voices floating down the corridor from the kitchen.

"...Needs to be out of the picture," Wilkes was saying.

"Well, we don't need to worry about retribution now Dearborn's gone."

"True enough. My only concern is that without him, we stand little chance of ever getting out of this shithole—"

"If you ask me, those chances are slim even _with _him. Let's face it—he's not in control of his own situation. He couldn't do it even if he wanted to, and it's clear as crystal that we're not his top priority."

"You're right." A pause. "D'you think we could take him?"

"Oh, yes. Especially now that we know for sure… If Dearborn died, so can Black. So it's a matter of two against one, immortal against mortal."

"He's quite a fighter, though. Still reckon it's worth starting an altercation?"

"Worth starting one, and worth finishing it." Wyman laughed softly. "And didn't I tell you? He doesn't know it, but he's already out of ammo. I emptied his cartridges before he woke up…"

Their quiet laughter rang in Sirius's ears. He fished his Glock out from under his robes; in his haste to leave that morning, he hadn't noticed that it was indeed lighter than it should have been. Cursing under his breath, he crossed the room to the tiny window and forced it open. He thought he heard soft footsteps approaching as he hoisted himself up on the sill, squeezed through the opening, and dashed away from the house.

The evening sky was overcast, and it soon began to leak fat drops of cold water. The dripping rain crescendoed into a steady downpour as Sirius ran, and he shivered violently as soon as he paused in his flight to catch his breath.

"We _will _find you, Sirius Black!" bellowed a voice. Sirius looked around wildly, but he couldn't see more than a few yards in any direction, his vision obscured by sheets of driving rain. Blindly he pressed on, making random turns at will, taking shortcuts over chain-link fences and through narrow alleyways, his long, wet hair flying behind him; he had no destination in mind, but merely hoped to shake off his pursuers and win himself a moment to rest, some time to think of a better plan.

At last he came to a dead end; the back of a tall, ugly concrete building rose before him, barring his way forward. Heart pounding, Sirius looked around and spotted a rickety fire escape rising out of the fog; he trotted carefully up the stairs, slipping a bit on the wet metal. Once he reached the roof he was relieved to find a crumbling chimney large enough to hide him entirely from view; panting, he crawled behind it.

He huddled against the bricks, soaked to the core and freezing; the wind was feistier so high up. He listened vigilantly for footsteps clanging on the fire escape, trying to calm himself enough to think properly… but his mind was a jumbled mess of doubts and disappointment, lingering shock and terror over Dearborn's fate, hopelessness at his own predicament. He wanted to give up, to collapse. _If only that bastard hadn't stolen my wand, _he thought vaguely, _hiding would be no problem at all_.

_Wait—_hiding?

The word jarred in his mind and he reflexively jumped to his feet. Was he to wait for his enemies to find him, like a man marooned on some god-forsaken island might wait for death? Was he to remain for ever in this rooftop refuge, only wasting his time dreading the inevitable?

_No. Sirius Black doesn't hide_.

And suddenly the cold November wind was really the rushing of happiness into the greedy mouths of dementors, and the sound of the splashing rain was really the ocean crashing into the prison's rock foundation, and Sirius was a great black dog bounding toward the perimeter of the building, toward his destiny…

He clambered back down the escape and barrelled across the lane. His range of vision was even worse than before, but his sense of smell was greatly enhanced. He caught the Death Eaters' scents within minutes and followed them to a decrepit old town square dotted with overflowing rubbish bins. Two dark figures were moving rapidly about, looking behind bins and under benches. They didn't give Sirius a second glance as he approached them, pretending to dig through a particularly rancid pile of rubbish; Sirius guessed that his fur was shaggy enough to make him a convincing stray.

Sirius loitered for a while, shook the water from his coat, and then crept to the centre of the square to conceal himself behind the raised dais of a crumbling stone statue. The Death Eaters did not notice that he had gone; his tail wagged briefly. He needed to begin with the upper hand, to be able to strike without warning; so he crouched in the shadows, listening, smelling, waiting…

And at last, the pair of Death Eaters crossed to the other half of the square to complete their search. Just as they passed the old statue, Sirius leapt forward with a snarl and bit Wyman's right hand as hard as he could.

Sirius felt the flesh tear in his teeth; he heard a scream, felt Wyman's left hand pummelling him on the nose, felt Wilkes kick him. He released Wyman and darted past him, out of harm's way.

"Bloody mutt," Wyman was saying, panting and cradling his ravaged hand. "Get him, won't you?"

"Not worth a bullet," Wilkes muttered, and drew a knife from beneath his coat. He lunged at Sirius, who rolled sideways through a puddle to avoid him. Wilkes stabbed again, and this time the dagger pierced the dog's rear leg. Sirius yelped, but clamped his jaws around Wilkes's Dark Mark as he attempted to tug his knife free. As the Death Eater joined his colleague in a litany of swears, Sirius scrambled to safety and transformed back into a man.

"Am _I _worth a bullet?" he asked haughtily. He drew his sword, trying to ignore the exquisite pain in his thigh. The Death Eaters, looking momentarily floored, did not respond at once.

"Well?"

"You are worth whatever it takes to kill you," growled Wyman. He had managed to sever the sleeve of his coat and wrap his bitten hand in it; now, he held a pistol loosely in his left hand.

"Why so intent on killing me?" said Sirius, brandishing his sword as a warning. "I know you think I've got little to no chance of getting your Keys, but why kill me rather than let me try? It makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Wyman snapped. "Consider: there is indeed a slim chance that you could free us from hell. However, we feel there is a _greater _chance that you will _not _help us escape, but instead abandon us and get back through the veil."

"What difference does it make to you?"

Wilkes replied, "We have heard rumours that the Dark Lord has regained a tremendous amount of power. His victory is forthcoming. The last thing he needs is for _you _to return to his enemies, to give them hope and aid—"

"How admirably loyal of you," Sirius said through gritted teeth.

"No, you misunderstand us," said Wyman. Fear was evident in his voice. "Wars of living people are none of our concern. However, in this case, the Dark Lord's defeat remains a threat to us; as long as he survives, we remain free from him. But if he is killed, he will come here; he will find us here."

"How very Slytherin. Forgive me if your plight doesn't move me to tears—"

Wyman aimed and fired, but Sirius was ready—he dropped to the ground and the bullet sailed over his head. A second shot missed by inches, and Wilkes was running at him wielding a dagger in his left hand; Sirius fought him off with his sword just as Wyman fired again straight at his chest, forcing him to dive behind the ancient statue.

"Never noticed I'm left handed, eh, Black?" Wyman taunted.

By way of reply, Sirius whirled out from behind the statue and swung his sword in a great arc; it sent the pistol flying across the square and left a long gash in Wyman's palm. Pain shot through Sirius's leg as he took a hurried step toward the gun; he dropped his sword and collapsed before he could reach it. Wilkes fumbled with his own pistol, but his mangled hand couldn't seem to grasp it; Wyman seized it from him and trained it on Sirius.

Sirius kicked out with his good leg, and caught Wyman behind the knees; the diverted bullet grazed Sirius's neck. As Wyman hit the ground with a _thud_, the gun clattered away across the wet pavement. Sirius groped in his robes for a knife; finding one, he drove it into Wyman's side once, twice—

An excruciating pain ripped through his stomach; Wilkes had managed to pick up a gun and hit his target. Sirius roared in agony, but grinding his teeth against the pain, he hurled the bloody knife as hard as he could. It buried itself in Wilkes's chest; the Death Eater doubled over and fell.

Sirius's surroundings were starting to spin before his eyes, but still his enemies stirred, feeling the sting of cold metal blades, but not of mortality. Gasping in pain, he struggled to his feet. With a bloody hand, he brushed his long, wet hair out of his eyes as he staggered toward Wilkes…

A brief scramble, a few forceful punches, and Sirius wrested the pistol from Wilkes's grasp. He did not—he could not—hesitate; two bullets found two Death Eaters' heads.

In the ensuing calm, Sirius took the time to examine his wounds; both were bleeding profusely. He knew that, unlike the immortal Death Eaters he had just subdued, he could die before his body repaired itself. But he had no wand for healing spells, no friends nearby to help him, nothing except the steadily falling rain to wash the blood away…

It occurred to him suddenly that he had never been so cold. It struck him as cruelly ironic that he could be so thirsty, when water was pouring from the skies. He opened his mouth lazily, trying to catch some…

"_There _you are!"

Sirius heard swift footsteps on one of the many streets that led away from the square. He struggled to lift his head as they grew louder and louder. With a great effort, he cried out, "Who's there?" just as a dark figure came into view.

The shape swore loudly and broke into a run; as it came closer, Sirius identified it as a man. The man crouched down at Sirius's side, drew out a wand, and began muttering a series of incantations. The gaping wounds healed over, and Sirius felt his mind begin to clear again.

But one look at the man's face nearly gave Sirius heart failure—familiar dark eyes stared back at him, under familiar dark hair…

"Who—what are you?" shouted Sirius, and he scrambled backwards onto the dais to get away. "Are you an Inferius?"

"It's me, you bloody idiot, didn't I just heal you? Lily could have done better, of course—"

"_What the hell do you think you're doing_?"

Dearborn had withdrawn a revolver from his robes and pointed it at Sirius.

"Trust me, Black. You have no idea… you were so close, so many times. Fear was the only thing holding you back."

But fear could not hold Sirius back any longer; marshalling his returning strength, he ran at Dearborn, hand outstretched, reaching for the gun—

"Don't worry—the fatal blow will be undone." Dearborn cocked the gun and continued, as calm as ever, "Safe passage through the veil."

Sirius's fingers were a foot away from the revolver when it discharged. He fell forwards onto wet concrete, as though weighed down by the bullet lodged between his eyes.

**A/N: **I'm not as confident in this chapter as I was in the previous ones. I would really appreciate feedback, especially on the action sequence and on the plot in general. While you were reading, were you confused? Bored? Something else?

If you leave a helpful review, I'll be able to get the last chapter up sooner. This isn't me being a review whore; this is me not having a beta reader, and needing constructive criticism. Thanks in advance…


	13. Chapter 13

Sirius gasped, shook, stumbled forward, and landed on hard stone. But the floor was clean and dry, and the air smelled fresh—he certainly was not where he had been a minute earlier. Behind him he heard a faint noise like whispering, and he thought something about the sound was very familiar….

Slowly, every part of him aching, his hair still wet and clinging to his face, he lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked around.

He was lying on a stone platform that rose up from the centre of a large room. On all sides, staggered rows of benches formed steps up to a higher level, from which a number of closed doors led away. And behind him, the ancient stone archway and its forbidding black veil, fluttering as ominously as ever….

Sirius got up. Was this really the place? Was he truly back among the living, back where he belonged? He felt quite sore, and tremendously tired, but very much alive.

And yet he was sure that his robes were at least as drenched with blood as with rainwater. Under his shirt he passed his hand over his stomach, and felt there a partially healed wound, new skin stretched over the small hole and barely holding back the deluge of blood that had so recently coloured a pavement in hell…

_The fatal blow will be undone_. So neither the bullet that had ripped through his stomach nor the knife that had pierced his leg had been enough to kill him. But Dearborn's shot to the head ought to have done it….

He raised a hand to his forehead. It felt completely normal, without even a scratch to mark the place where the bullet had entered his head, nothing to remind him of the fierce pain that had lasted the tiniest fraction of a second before everything went black.

One by one, the pieces were falling into place in his mind. Death was the way in, and the way out. All the Unspeakables who had ventured beyond the veil must have spent their days in terror, meticulously avoiding death, but they couldn't outrun it forever… and of course that first fatal blow would have been undone, but in their old age and illness, the next one would not have been far-off….

For a fleeting moment, Sirius felt deeply ashamed. Dearborn was right—fear was all that had held him back. But with the first step he took towards the raised benches, a sharp pain rocketed down his leg, and he remembered the feeling of coming out of hiding, rushing towards his enemies braced for a fight….

Heartened, he climbed the stairs, wincing with each step but feeling proud, accomplished.

It was pre-dawn; the Ministry was empty. He made his way through the deserted hallways unhindered, and exited onto the street, feeling gloriously free.

He was back in London; he was home.

Sirius threw back his head and shouted, "James, I'm all right! James, Lily, everyone— and tell Dearborn—I'm all right! I'm back!"

The few Muggles who were out and about clearly thought he was mad; but Sirius had never cared less. He limped as quickly as he could through the streets, whooping, hardly bothering to keep his sword and knives concealed beneath his tattered robes.

"Regulus, James, Lily, Dumbledore, Dearborn—_thank you_!"

Soon he reached the old house, and it had never looked as welcoming as it did now. Wandless as he was, he could not unlock the door; he hammered on it, waking his mother's portrait, and at last it creaked open.

Two pairs of hands seized him by his hair and his robes; he was dragged inside, pinned to the wall, and held there by two wands at his throat.

"Who are you?" demanded Kingsley. "How did you find this place? _Answer me!_"

"Easy, now—it's me, it's Sirius Black!"

The wands dropped, and their owners' jaws followed suit. His mother's portrait even stopped screaming.

"S—Sirius?" Tonks said shakily. "But… how?"

"Never mind that for now, where's Remus?"

Kingsley, still looking bewildered, said, "He's upstairs, sleeping—just finished his shift on the watch. I'll go get him."

As Kingsley disappeared up the stairs and Tonks stood gaping, Sirius checked his reflection in the silver sconce of one of the lit gas lamps. He was not surprised that they hadn't recognised him straightaway—dirt and dried blood covered his face entirely. But his filthy makeup couldn't fool Remus, who had just appeared at the foot of the stairs, swinging a housecoat around his shoulders, looking frantic.

Remus nearly sent Tonks flying as he dashed across the hall, and stopped directly in front of Sirius.

"How can this be?" he whispered. "I thought I'd lost you again—for good, this time…"

Sirius reached out and placed his hands on his old friend's shoulders.

"James says hello," he croaked, so elated he could hardly speak. "And Lily… and Caradoc Dearborn, you remember him?"

Remus looked floored. Sirius grasped his arm and steered him downstairs into the kitchen, where he retrieved four rocks glasses and a bottle of brandy, and called for Tonks and Kingsley to join them. They all drank steadily as Sirius recounted his adventure, even demonstrating for them his newfound skill with the sword and knives, and concluded his story with his emergence from the veil less than an hour earlier.

"Simply unbelievable," Kingsley kept saying.

"After Azkaban, it was nothing," said Sirius.

And from the other three, Sirius received a complete account of everything that had happened since he had disappeared—from the sacking of Fudge, to Snape's treachery and Dumbledore's murder, to Harry's departure with Ron and Hermione in the late summer.

"So where are they now?" Sirius asked.

"We never know where they are," said Remus. "No idea what they're doing, either…"

Sirius bit his tongue; Dumbledore had made him swear to keep Harry's mission a secret.

Tonks said reassuringly, "Now and then they check back here. I'm sure it will be soon—we haven't seen them in over a month."

When the discussion had worn itself out and the alcohol had thieved the last of their wakefulness, they dragged themselves upstairs to get some rest. Kingsley woke Molly and Arthur to replace him and Tonks on the watch, and Sirius clambered into his own bed—so comfortable, so familiar, that sleep found him at once.

Over the next few days Sirius enjoyed the comforts of home to the fullest as he recovered his strength. Molly had urged Sirius go to St Mungo's to have his injuries healed properly, but he had refused—the last thing he wanted was to be discovered alive and called in for questioning by the Department of Mysteries. His secret was valuable, he knew—but he had no intentions of sharing it with more than his close friends. He could just imagine the Ministry turning the veil into some sort of morbid tourist attraction, charging fifty Galleons for a chaperoned excursion to visit deceased loved ones, parading clients through heaven and bothering those already at peace.

And in any case, Sirius did not want to risk missing his godson's return by leaving to go to hospital. He was confident the wounds would heal on their own, quite naturally—or as Arthur put it, "in Muggle fashion."

So Sirius lounged about, making himself useful by helping Molly with the cooking, and he was so relieved to be back where he belonged that he didn't even mind staying out of the action for a while.

He was downstairs in the kitchen one evening, chopping vegetables for a stew, when he heard a commotion in the entrance hall. He wiped his hands on his robes and went upstairs to investigate.

Harry had just arrived, grinning through his exhaustion, looking quite as ragged as Sirius himself had been when he returned. Behind him stood Ron and Hermione, looking equally knackered as Molly fussed over thejm, ushering them inside.

Sirius hung back, letting the others do the brunt of the greeting. When Harry finally noticed that familiar profile with its familiar roguish grin, the tall man with long, black hair, leaning against the doorframe, all weariness vanished from his face. He looked thoroughly flabbergasted.

Laughing at Harry's astonishment, Sirius stepped forward and swept him into a tight hug.

"Welcome back," he said, tousling his godson's hair.

Harry looked unsure whether he was hallucinating. Finally Hermione, who looked equally stunned, spoke. "Explain."

They settled down in the kitchen, and Sirius repeated his story while he made them tea. When he had finished, he added in an undertone to Harry, "Your mum wanted me to tell you… that she loves you, very much. And your dad—he's very proud of you, you know that?"

Harry nodded, looking torn between disbelief and joy. When he finally found his voice, it was to say feebly, "What… and you didn't even bring us a souvenir?"

Sirius, Ron, and Hermione all laughed.

"As a matter of fact, I did!" said Sirius, and from his pocket he withdrew a small square of crumpled parchment, which he unfolded and smoothed out to reveal his brother's neat handwriting.

The three teenagers gazed at it, mouths slightly open, looking as though all their wildest dreams had just come true.

"Blimey," said Ron weakly, looking around at his companions. "This'll make things a damn sight easier, won't it?"

"We were so lost," Hermione told Sirius. "We had no idea where to go, what to do next…"

"I thought Dumbledore was mad, thinking we could do all this on our own," Harry agreed. "Sirius—I can't thank you enough."

"Don't mention it," said Sirius, and he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Now, are you going to let me help you destroy the rest of the Horcruxes?"

"I don't think so," Harry said apologetically. "No one else is even supposed to know about them. Dumbledore wanted us to do it."

"Ah, well, I thought as much. In that case…" Sirius's eyes drifted over to his sword, which he had mounted on the wall over the stove. "I've got a date with dear old Bellatrix."

**FIN**

**A/N: **Yes, I know this was short. More of an epilogue than a last chapter. But it doesn't matter because I think I'm going to have to re-write the last few chapters. The end of the plot didn't achieve the effect I was going for—I wanted Sirius to come off as really heroic, but as I mentioned in this chapter, he braved the physical pain but really didn't solve anything on his own. In the new version I probably won't have Dearborn kill him, I'll have him valiantly fight off the Death Eaters and give him a death to rival Boromir's.

Comments, suggestions, criticisms are all greatly appreciated. And if anyone wants to take a crack at beta'ing this fic, please e-mail me at . Thanks everyone for reading, look for version 2.0 up on FictionAlley (eventually)!


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